


Foundations

by notboldly



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, F/M, Implied Abuse/Neglect, Implied Relationships, Implied Sexual Assault, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-22
Updated: 2012-02-05
Packaged: 2017-10-30 16:03:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 44,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/333518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notboldly/pseuds/notboldly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amanda only wanted what was best for her son, and after Sarek’s death, she was certain that Vulcan was not it. However, she had never expected it to be Iowa either, or rather, a poor little boy from Riverside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Before she had married Sarek, Amanda had spent much of her young adult life teaching music in Seattle to children of all ages, and she had never longed for adventure. Her sister, Doris, had often said it was that contentment in an ordinary life that had kept them so different; where Doris wanted to know everything and see everything and explore the universe, Amanda had wanted very little, wishing only for a husband and a home and a child. And—according to Doris—it was that contentment that made her so very suited, in the end, to be an ambassador’s wife, knowing exactly when she was reaching too far, asking for too much. Amanda begged to differ.

In her mind, it was her experience with dealing with fussy, bickering toddlers that enabled her to handle politicians so well.

“No, Ambassador Sepek, I do not understand,” she murmured, her gentle tone at odds with the way her hands clenched out of sight underneath the table in front of her. “I was Sarek’s wife, and he left no will. According to Vulcan and human law, all his belongings and holdings revert to his surviving family.”

Sepek looked at her with cool disdain, his face shifting only due to fluctuations across their comm channel, and Amanda made certain that her lips didn’t so much as purse.

“There has been no precedent set of the union between a human and a Vulcan, and as such, our counsel has decided to rule in favor of awarding his possessions to his first wife, T’Rea, and her son.”

“For what reasons?” she asked mildly, her hands folding neatly to rest on the papers and table in front of her. Sepek’s eyes darted down, and she knew he saw the words “Marriage Law” written across the top by the way his mouth thinned just barely.

“Our reasoning is private. However, we may reconsider this decision,” Sepek finally stated, sounding sullen and young, and not half the man Sarek had been despite being listed as his successor. Amanda smiled politely.

“That is all I ask. Thank you for your time, Ambassador.”

Sepek hung up without a word, and Amanda tsked privately to herself—Sarek would no doubt have had much to say about Sepek’s treatment of her, never mind the obvious emotionalism in refusing to treat another being with respect. Sarek would have handled the situation with dignity and wisdom, chastising him gently but thoroughly, and Sepek would have listened, because no one had ever ignored Sarek.

God, but she missed him so much. It seemed cruel as it had for weeks, that something as small as an infinitesimal tear in the airlock of Sarek’s shuttle would end his life so abruptly, leave his blossoming young family alone, leave  _her_  alone. She knew it wasn’t something that could be changed, but at thirty-three, she had never expected to be a widow, and she was only human. Sarek had loved her, and he had given her something precious to remember him by…but she missed him anyway.

Amanda sighed as she stood, leaving the conference room slowly so that she had time to dab at her eyes with her sleeve, catching the stay teardrops that lingered on her eyelashes. It was too soon to be thinking about Sarek’s death, or his will, or his  _belongings_ …but Vulcans were nothing if not efficient, and she knew that if she didn’t act quickly, Spock’s inheritance would be divided up and gone before the first month had passed. Not that inheritance meant much when paired with the loss of his father, but Amanda had always wanted to be a good mother, and circumstances meant she had to be the best.

She didn’t know if she could do it, and she knew that her smile wobbled more than a little by the time she had entered the daycare of Starfleet Headquarters for the second time that day. The receptionist greeted her with a warm smile, and Amanda took the reminder of being in the public’s eye as a crutch to make her expression a little stronger.

“Hello, Miss Amanda. You’re here to pick up Spock?”

Amanda nodded and smiled, listening to the sounds of laughter in the background, behind sturdy and old-fashioned playpens. It was one of the reasons she had accepted their offered service—that touch of traditionalism rather than locking them away like criminals behind energy bars.

“Yes. Has he been good?”

The receptionist—Karen—smiled widely, and her honey blond hair moved in short jumps as she nodded rapidly, reaching around to unlock the gate to allow Amanda behind the desk.

“You know Spock, Miss Amanda—such a little sweetie. He’s in the playroom, so just head on back.”

Amanda nodded her thanks, suspecting that her baby was sitting in a corner, reading something far too advanced for a human child his age, and she was right. Upon entering the playroom and seeing a dozen children of Starfleet officers playing in a circle, she only had to look to the left, into the circle of chairs meant primarily for elementary school students who had nowhere to go after school was out. Spock was the only one there, his small form bent over the table’s surface and his nose buried in a book. His feet dangled into the open air, forcing observers to note his small size, and this illusion of tininess wasn’t helped by the thick sweater he wore even though it was September in San Francisco.

He looked like the smallest child…but then, he was also reading  _The Adventures of Hannibal_  and  _The Aenid_ , simultaneously by the looks of it. Amanda just smiled to herself at the image, and then she moved forward to hug his skinny shoulders and kiss the top of his head.

“Hello, sweetie.” Spock’s nose scrunched at the endearment, as it always did, and she sat on the edge of the chair, pulling her reluctant son close to her side. “Don’t you think you’re a little young to be diving into Roman history?”

Spock closed the books and looked at her with his serious eyes. They were brown like hers instead of black like Sarek’s had been, and the reminder of exactly why she was having trouble ensuring Spock’s inheritance made her blink rapidly.

“Historical fiction, Mother. It’s fascinating.”

Amanda grinned and squeezed him closer. He squirmed like all young children did, and she released him just long enough to hop from the small chair. Spock followed, and his hand automatically found hers like it had every time since they’d left Vulcan. She knew she’d miss it when he got older, when he realized he wasn’t like other children, that he had problems they would never face, and that it wasn’t  _Vulcan_  to lean on his mother.

He was only five, and much too young to be ostracized for things he couldn’t change.

His thin hand squeezed hers, and she glanced down at him as they walked.

“I am actually four years and eight months, Mother, not five.”

Amanda sighed, and they stopped long enough for her to crouch in front of him.

“Honey. What did I tell you about reading Mommy’s mind?” The first time it had happened, she’d been startled—he was Vulcan after all, and taught to control these things—but with Sarek gone, his foremost teacher had disappeared. Spock’s ability to maintain his distance from the thoughts of others had been degrading ever since.

Spock’s released her abruptly, and he looked away, a thoughtful expression on his face like he couldn’t comprehend his own disobedience.

“I’m sorry.”

Amanda smiled brightly and kissed his forehead, smoothing his already neat hair affectionately.

“It’s okay, baby. But remember, this is Earth—most people aren’t okay with it.”

“Yes, Mother,” he responded automatically, and she stood again, deliberately taking his hand a second time as they left, nodding at Karen, who waved and winked at them both.

They were nearly outside when they heard the wail of a child, and turned—Amanda in surprise and sympathy, Spock in curiosity. What they saw was a woman with thick blond curls, dark pants and a blue shirt with the word  _Bonkers_ emblazoned across the back—a waitress’s uniform—who was crying as hard as the small blond toddler she held in her arms. To her right stood a young boy of around six, looking bored as his mother pleaded with the receptionist.

“Please! I got called into work, and I need this job—can’t you take him just until morning? I promise it won’t happen again.”

The receptionist was a frazzled looking young man, and Amanda watched him curiously as he shuffled papers across his desk, knowing she was intruding. Spock stared unabashedly. The baby wailed on.

“I’m sorry, Miss Kirk, but our specialist for children under two has already left for the evening. We can take your oldest, but I’m afraid without proper supervision…” he trailed off, and the woman—“Winona,” as her nametag proclaimed—shook her head.

“But I can’t take him with me, and it’s too late to get a sitter! Please, I am begging you—”

“Excuse me,” Amanda interrupted, and four pairs of startled eyes looked at her as she stepped forward.  _Don’t do it, Amanda…_ but she did anyway. “You probably don’t know me—”

Winona narrowed her eyes in recognition, and her oldest son hid behind her legs.

“Hey, I do know you! You’re, um, the widow of that ambassador, right?” She glanced down, spotted a very unimpressed looking Spock, and then glanced back up quickly. “The Vulcan one?”

Amanda winced internally at the description, but nodded. “Yes. I’m Amanda Grayson. I couldn’t help but overhear and I don’t want to intrude, but…prior to marrying Sarek, I babysat for my niece and nephew all through their toddler years.”

Winona hesitated, and for good reason—she clearly hesitated to leave the child she clutched to her chest to a stranger, but thankfully, that was when the receptionist chimed in, no doubt grateful to be rid of the problem at his desk.

“Miss Amanda is one of our frequent visitors, and her son is very well-behaved. She is currently staying at the Ritz-Carlton, and she used to teach young children.”

Amanda didn’t know how it was they knew so much about her, but she was well used to the experience as an ambassador’s wife, and she nodded along quietly.

“Yes, that’s correct. I would be happy to look after your son until the end of your shift.”

Winona still hesitated, and her oldest sighed.

“ _Mom_. Can I go back and play now?” When Winona nodded distractedly, he darted back the way Amanda and Spock had come, ducking under the gate. Amanda waited for anything from the young mother edging away slowly to promising to call the police, but to her surprise, she seemed to deflate, extending the unhappy baby.

“Here. Take him. I’ll…I’ll call for him in the morning.”

Amanda nodded and cradled the baby in her arms, feeling a weight she remembered from long ago. Vulcans were always skinny, but human babies—like her niece and nephew—were chubby and happy, and as healthy as this one was…except he was definitely not happy. His face was red and his cheeks tear-stained, and Amanda gladly rocked him in her arms until his sobs subsided to mere hiccups. The receptionist and Winona watched in fascination, and Amanda smiled.

“Experience,” she said with a grin, despite the fact that she had not held a fussy baby for well over seven years.

Winona nodded slowly, and did not immediately disappear. It was to her credit as a mother that she remained.

“He’s—he’s allergic to a lot of artificial substances. Sweeteners, medicine. Only fresh food, okay?”

“I understand.”

“And—his name is Jim.” Winona’s eyes teared up for reasons Amanda didn’t understand, and Amanda patted her on the arm with her free hand, Spock having released her long ago.

“It’s alright. It’ll be okay.”

Winona drew a shaky breath, and smiled weakly as she picked up her purse, handing the diaper bag she carried to Amanda. “Thank you,” she whispered, and before Amanda could respond, she had darted away.

Amanda looked at the receptionist in confusion, and he just shook his head.

“That’s Winona Kirk. Widow of Captain Kirk? She was dismissed from the service, and hasn’t been able to make it back to Iowa yet, what with all the paper work and negotiations for extended bereavement pay.” He leaned forward with a conspiratory air. “I hear she dropped all of her insurance money into a funeral, and couldn’t make ends meet.”

Amanda nodded, suddenly understanding. She had heard about Captain Kirk, of course…but it had never occurred to her to wonder about the rest of his family. At the time, she had been too busy trying to shield her son from the inevitable backlash…but the mistake of this was now cradled in her arms, crying again.

“Oh, honey,” she soothed gently, and she didn’t have to look to know that Spock looked appalled. “Let’s get you a clean nappy and a soft bed, okay?” She would have to contact the hotel for a crib, of course, but considering that she was relatively undemanding, she felt certain they would accommodate her. “Spock, sweetie, grab this diaper bag, okay?”

“Yes, Mother.” The bag was nearly as big as he was but Vulcan strength prevailed, and they ambled out the door, one child heavier than before.

********

It took Amanda a while to get back into the swing of things, to become used to a small child. Jim was a healthy eighteen-month old boy according to the daycare center, and he had all of the finesse of a child just learning the world. Once he became used to her—he even called her “mama” once or twice, and she corrected him gently each time, finding the word both sad and touching at once—he didn’t hesitate to use his chubby hands to explore everything from the soft cushy bedding of his crib to her face and jewelry. The one time he tried to touch Spock’s ears, though—murmuring “pretty,” which Amanda found very amusing—her son all but jumped across the room, not to be seen again for hours.

By the time Jim was resting peacefully, happily changed and tucked in with soft kisses that made him squeal, Amanda realized just how odd this was, and she went to look for him. She found him sitting in the sitting room, reading a book with a furrow in his brow. He didn’t close it when she neared this time, and she realized why with a sad sigh. It was _The Great Gatsby…_  and they had been reading it together for the past few days, every night before bedtime.

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry.” The idea that Spock had felt left out hadn’t occurred to her, but it should have—after having his mother to himself every night since his father had passed, the sudden introduction of a new baby had probably made him feel discarded. It was perfectly normal…and perfectly human.

And when she placed her hand on the center of his back and he stiffened, she knew he was experiencing anger as well.

“Apologies are illogical,” he intoned, and she smiled and patted his hair.

“I know, baby. Forgive your mommy?”

“You are my mother, not my ‘mommy.’” She waited, and he relaxed just slightly, finally closing the cover lightly where the book rested in his lap. “But…I do require sustenance, and perhaps a cookie.”

She took that as an “all’s forgiven,” and she smiled and rose to the phone.

“Of course, honey. Apple salad okay?” It had been their special treat for weeks, and she knew Spock would appreciate a sign that he was loved. Even so young, he was sensitive to the approval of others, and she hoped his shields would grow better with time.

“Adequate.” He stood and left, and she didn’t question why while she placed the order with a smile, adding a sugar cookie as a special treat for them both. After hanging up the phone, however, she followed him curiously, and what she received was a surprise that touched her heart.

Jim was awake and fussy again; Spock must have heard him, because his hearing was sharp, but rather than immediately fetch her, he just stared at him.

“Calm down,” he said quietly, and Jim looked at him. “You are in the company of friends.”

Jim couldn’t have understood, but he reached for Spock anyway. And Spock let him, even touching his small hand. Well, right up until Jim tried to grab his ears again, and then Spock pulled away quickly. She laughed quietly, and Spock turned.

“Mother,” he said stiffly, “he is awake again.” He scurried back to the sitting room without another word, no doubt content to sit and wait for their room service, to leave matters of a fussy baby to her.

Amanda just shook her head and rocked Jim tight against her chest, an idea forming in her mind that couldn’t be squashed.

********

The morning dawned bright and clear, without a cloud spotting the sky or even early morning fog drifting in off the ocean. Amanda would have said that it was not unlike a morning on Vulcan if it weren’t for the slight, damp breeze that lifted natural moisture into their rooms, and she woke groggily.

Jim was a fussy baby, and he had cried four times during the night. She’d barely gotten a wink of sleep, but when she tumbled out of bed and into the fluffy white robe provided by the hotel, she had a smile on her face. He was just a baby, and a lonely one at that. Unhappy. Every time he’d woken up it had been with arms outstretched, and Amanda wondered about that—if he was reaching for the world, as so many babies did, or if he was reaching for his young widowed mother who worked too hard.

It didn’t matter, she decided—her mind had already been made up.

Spock woke up only a few minutes after she did, no doubt feeling the dip of the mattress as she got up, and instinctively following like a baby duck. Of course, he didn’t look pleased when he found her gently rocking the softly sleeping Jim, but Amanda didn’t think anything of it—this time, she was certain, it was not caused by only-child jealousy, but by the fact that Spock was always cranky in the mornings.

“Hello, sweetie!” she called over her shoulder as he disappeared into their bathroom, and she heard back a soft “greetings, Mother” before the door clicked closed. It made her smile more as she smoothed down the soft fluff of Jim’s hair, and she moved towards the comm unit as it chimed.

“This is Amanda,” she answered, and Jim stirred as a smooth male voice responded.

“Miss Grayson. There is a young woman requesting to see you, a Miss Kirk.”

“Yes. Send her up, please.”

Amanda straightened her clothes and pasted a smile on her face, hoping that she at least looked presentable; she needn’t have bothered, because Miss Kirk looked dead on her feet, and probably long past noticing the fashion faux pas of others. Still, she smiled brightly at Amanda and held her eldest’s hand loosely, and cooed at Jim with enough love that Amanda felt something in her relax.

“Thank you, Miss Grayson,” Winona murmured around affectionate baby talk to the baby she now held in her arms. “I’ve never been a single mother.”

Amanda smiled politely, and when Jim reached out to her, she met his little fingers gladly.

“It’s alright, I promise. I was actually…wondering if you’d be interested in a proposal of mine.”

Winona’s hands tightened noticeably around her child.

“What kind of proposal?” Her voice was blank, but Amanda wasn’t offended.

“My sister married a starship construction engineer, and they live in Kaluna, Iowa. I was going to stay with her for a few weeks to feel out the area, but if I decide to stay…”she trailed off, hoping that she didn’t need to say anything else. Winona deflated visibly.

“Look. I appreciate what you’re offering, but I-I’ve managed so far. I’m not going to break.”

Amanda didn’t point out that she nearly had the night before, simply continuing to smile. This was not Vulcan, and as such, she doubted anyone would appreciate her pointing out the painfully obvious.

“I know. But…us single mothers should stick together.”

Jim cooed in agreement and Amanda smiled. Winona’s eyes were suddenly sharp.

“Us widows, you mean?” she asked softly, and Amanda flinched, surprised. Winona immediately looked apologetic. “Sorry. I’ve been a bit punchy, lately—lack of sleep, you know?” Amanda suspected that wasn’t it, but Winona just babbled out apologies and acceptance while ticking her baby’s foot. “I’d like your help, if you’re still offering it. Just a few days a month, or something. You  _were_  offering to babysit, right? Once I get back home?”

“Something like that.” Amanda had been offering many things, not the least of which was passage home in the first place, but she could see that Winona’s pride wouldn’t allow her to accept that. Thankfully, any plans Amanda had of pressing the issue—it was a relatively small issue, all things considered—were interrupted by the tiny Vulcan head that peered out from the bedroom. “Ah, but before we discuss the details, let me introduce you to my son.”

Spock was very cooperative with the people invading his house, right up until Winona’s eldest son—George Samuel Kirk, or “Sam”—told him that he looked weird. Spock responded, quite logically, but informing Samuel that he was inferior, and the experience went downhill from there.

Still, every once in a while Jim would giggle and squeal and Spock would look at him with an expression that wasn’t quite alarmed, and Amanda would think to herself what good friends they could be one day.


	2. 1.1

The first time Spock met Jim when he was not being a somewhat trying infant was also coincidentally the first time Spock met the Riverside City Police. It was also a Friday; this was important, as—since meeting the Kirk family approximately twenty-three months ago—Spock and his mother often took weekends to travel the short distance from Kaluna to Riverside in order to visit Winona Kirk and her two sons. Although his mother never said as much, he suspected this was also to aid them with any difficulties they might have.

Spock found the experience…difficult. Since beginning his schooling—at a small, almost entirely human-populated elementary school—he had come to realize that children were a complication to many aspects of a normal Vulcan life. Their emotions were loud, and noisy, and smothering, and without exception; he did not include himself in this category, of course, because he was Vulcan, and as such better controlled. However, his mother had once explained to him—as best she was able—the difficulties he was facing: he was telepathic, untrained, and surrounded by members of a species who rarely practiced emotional control, much less at so young an age. And although his mother tried, there was little a human could do to help him.

Being around Jim—with his squealing and shrieking and then sudden bouts of sullen silence—was more of a trial than his entire school, and these weekends often meant one day or more of constant vigilance against emotional infection.

His mother said he was exaggerating, as she did now, but he informed her that he was Vulcan, and had not developed the mental capacity to lie at only six years and seven months of age.

“Oh, sweetie,” she said, ruffling his hair, the gentle wave of love and amusement from her skin never unwelcome, but often unexpected. “All kids exaggerate. They can’t help it.”

“A kid is a baby goat, Mother, and I am a Vulcan child,” he responded simply, and she chuckled while she hugged him loosely to her body. She was always more affectionate during these short trips to Riverside, and Spock wondered—perhaps foolishly—if she didn’t sometimes long for a human child of her own. For himself, he cherished the short bursts in their air car where he was pressed to her side, warm as he often wasn’t in the rolling fields and occasionally muddy hills.

Of course, he was too Vulcan to admit either to this or the dread that filled him when they parked in front of the moderately-sized farmhouse of the Kirk family. His mother patted him once more before releasing him, and smiled at him with her entire face as she turned off the ignition and exited the car.

“Come on, Spock—it won’t be that bad.”

She was wrong, but he forgave her—after all, she was only human, and no one could have guessed that young Samuel Kirk, age ten years and eight months, would have taken his baby brother and run away.

His mother was panicked for reasons he couldn’t understand, and the emotion increased when she heard the cries of Miss Kirk…it was painful to him, and so Spock did the only logical thing: he left the vicinity…and because he was already halfway there, he figured that he may as well aid in the search for the Kirk boys.

Samuel Kirk, it was fortunate to note, was not very intelligent, and so Spock found him, predictably, on the road leading to the shuttle station. Unfortunately, Spock was uncertain how to approach the situation beyond this point, as he had not thought to bring a communications device or an adult with him. And Samuel Kirk had never liked him.

But as the only thing he had to lose was the Kirk brothers, Spock took an educated guess.

“Greetings, Samuel.”

Samuel—who had been walking calmly with his brother at this point, dragging him really—whipped around to look at Spock, and his face immediately twisted in recognition.

“ _You_. What are you doing here?”

“Our mothers are concerned,” Spock stated simply, expecting Samuel to yield to the logic of the situation. He had been found. He should return.

But Samuel only snorted, mocking him as he usually did.

“Go back to your mommy, you big baby! We don’t need you here!”

Spock stiffened.

“I am not ‘a big baby.’ I am a Vulcan of average size for my age.”

“Go away!”

“I cannot allow you to take your brother to the shuttle station.” The statement, one that Spock deemed perfectly rational, had the opposite effect that he’d intended, with Samuel whirling around and pushing him hard in the chest. The human’s bigger size—combined with the element of surprise—meant that Spock easily fell into the dirt.

It hurt.

“It’s your fault! Your stupid fault!” Samuel was nearly crying, and Spock was looking at him in fear, not understanding the wave of sorrow that engulfed him like so much smoke. “You and…and aliens like you! I wish you’d never been born!”

Spock was uncertain how to react. He had not expected…but Samuel did not give him the chance to react, he simply turned around and continued to walk. Spock didn’t realize until he attempted to stand that he was shaking.

“Come on, Jim!”

Samuel’s irritated voice broke through the cloud that was rising in front of Spock’s vision—tears—and he looked up sharply, concerned…and saw Jim Kirk struggling against his brother.

“No! Don’t wanna!”

Spock was puzzled, and clearly, so was Samuel. The older boy was also clearly exasperated.

“You  _said_  you wanted to come!”

Jim struggled further, and Samuel released him with an angry grunt.

“Fine! If you want to stay, stay!” Samuel turned and walked away without a second glance, but Spock paid him little attention, too busy watching the released toddler amble towards him.

“Ullo, Spock,” he said, and Spock blinked rapidly. “Did Sammy hurt you?”

Spock shook his head, not entirely certain how to react to blue eyes blinking up at him seriously from under vibrantly yellow hair.

“No. Come—your mother is worried about you.”

“’Kay.”

Spock stood with a deliberate appearance of little effort, and dusted himself off with dignity. What surprised him, however, was the tiny hand that inserted itself into his own once he had turned back the direction they had come. He flinched instinctively, expecting a surge of unwelcome emotions…and felt only a gentle hum of contentment, and a bright twinge of anxiousness. It was nothing like the emotions he had come to expect, and it was almost…tolerable, much like those he gleaned from his mother.

It was odd, but not so odd that he did not hold Jim’s hand as he walked. He was unsurprised when a patrol car hovered to a stop next to them.

“Are you boys alright?” The voice was human, as Riverside was one of the few locations that still employed actual humans in grunt law enforcement, no doubt used to the town’s small size prior to the boom that came from the newly developed starship construction field. Spock did not know how they managed.

“We are fine,” he replied to the softly outlined policewoman, her crinkled hair squashed tight under the officer’s cap she wore. She looked amused.

“Why don’t I give you a ride? My name’s Alice. Alice Cooper.”

Spock nodded solemnly in greeting, and Jim said nothing.

“Officer Cooper. As you can see, we are in no danger.”

She leaned out of the metal frame of her vehicle, and Spock felt his nose wrinkle, both at the amusement drifting from her in waves and the scent of patchouli oil made pungent by the heat of the car interior.

“I insist. Where are you heading?”

Spock shrugged as he had seen humans do, and he was…interested to note that Jim copied the gesture.

“To the Kirk farmhouse.”

“Kirk?” She looked puzzled, and then she glanced at Jim, seemingly seeing him for the first time. She pointed unnecessarily. “Is he one of Winona’s boys?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes were suddenly alert, and more serious than he would have suspected such light brown eyes were capable of being.

 “Did you see Samuel? The older one?”

“Yes. He was going to the shuttle station.”

The word she said afterward was one that Spock’s mother had informed him was not repeatable, and he hesitated as she reached for the radio on the front of the dashboard. Instinct to obey told him that he should not run from a police officer…but his own instincts concerning strange women with frizzy hair told him just the opposite.

She turned back to them before Spock could make the decision, one way or another, to bolt down the road.

“Come on, sweetie—into the front seat.”

The car door creaked as it was opened, and still Spock hesitated. Jim, however, did not, and Spock followed him, unwilling to relinquish the one Kirk brother he had managed to retrieve.

When they sat in the front seat easily big enough for them both and after Officer Cooper had buckled them securely, Jim’s hand immediately found his again, and Spock was comforted.

********

There were very few explanations that could comfort a parent upon seeing their child emerge from a police cruiser, but fortunately, Officer Cooper had found one of the few. Upon seeing the panicked expressions on both Miss Kirk and his mother’s faces—Spock realized, belatedly, that he had not informed his mother where he was going—Officer Cooper smiled in a friendly manner and steered them towards the stricken women, explaining on the way.

“This brave little boy—yours, Miss Amanda?—found the Kirk brothers for us. Don’t worry—there’s already a cruiser en-route to pick up Sam.”

Miss Kirk sagged in relief around her youngest child, but Spock’s mother wrapped him in an enormous hug, clinging like she’d just experienced the fear of her life; the air was still tinged with the sickly slick feel of it.

“Don’t do that to Mommy, okay?” she whispered against his hair, and Spock nodded furiously, eyes prickling against his will.

“Okay…Momma.”

She laughed and cried at the same time, and didn’t let him go until after the next cruiser had shown up, carrying one very disgruntled Samuel Kirk.

********

That evening was both worse and better than what Spock had come to expect of the Kirk family meals; it was tense with leftover panic and worry, stiff with anger from Samuel, tinged with forced cheer from Miss Kirk, and altogether uncomfortable…but it was also bubbling slightly with the frankly  _mild_  emotions from Jim, and Spock found that in his small corner of table—with his mother on one side and Jim on the other—he was almost at peace.

That did not change the conversation that had to take place on the car-ride back, however, and Spock knew it. There was only so many false smiles that could be shoved into a family, and the Kirk family had seen more than their share over the past two years.

Things were getting worse. Spock didn’t fully understand how, but nonetheless, this fact was true.

“Mother, will they be alright?”

His mother stroked his hair with one hand, but kept her eyes determinedly on the road. Spock suspected it was to prevent them from tearing up, as they had so often done so that evening.

“I hope so, baby. I hope so.”

Spock nodded, and they drove in silence for minutes before Spock found himself looking out the window and speaking again.

“Mother, human children do not like me very much.” He told himself that it was only by chance that he caught sight of his mother’s jerk in his mirror—so she knew it too.

“Give it time, Spock.”

Spock shook his head. He knew this was not going to help, as did she. His mother was the smartest human he knew, after all. Because he was a Vulcan child, Spock had also done research into the matter, and he had found that only in very rare cases were aliens fully integrated among humans…and none of them had been Vulcans attempting to integrate after a Romulan attack.

Spock shifted, just enough to look at his mother. He would miss her.

“Mother, there is a small Vulcan colony known as Paan Moltan just four days away at warp 5. It contains an entirely Vulcan school, and if it is true that we are not welcomed on Vulcan, this would be the best choice.”

She kept her eyes on the road in front of them, but her hands tightened noticeably on the wheel.

“Baby, it’s not that we aren’t welcomed on Vulcan. I just…thought it would be better for you to experience other cultures. Did you want to move to this colony?” The question was purposefully casual, meant to distract from the fact that his mother was thinking of beginning music lessons again, and that she also knew about this colony, and that Ambassador Sepek was still troubling her over the inheritance that the council was reluctant to give to a half-human child. His mother hid many things.

The answer Spock would have given just a few days ago—“yes, and as quickly as possible”—did not come.

“No. I…find I do not mind the company of the Kirk family. However, the school I’m speaking of follows a relatively human schedule, with a bi-annual break of approximately one month. It would be possible to return at those times.”

“You’ve thought about this a lot, haven’t you?” his mother asked softly, and Spock wondered if it worried her. He reached out a hand to touch her skirt lightly, and found that yes, it did, but it saddened her more.

“Mrs. Pattson gave me a brochure yesterday. She thinks I would be better off with my own species.”

Amanda looked at him sharply, and then looked determinedly back at the road.

“She did, did she?”

“Yes. Mother, do not be angry.”

“I’m not angry, Spock,” she said, but she carefully removed his hand before completing the lie. Spock waited in silence, unwilling to push the issue, and then she sighed.

“Okay, baby. We’ll give it a shot.”

Spock nodded, and they spent the rest of the ride neither touching nor speaking. Spock missed it already, but he told himself that he could live without it.

After all, he was Vulcan.


	3. 1.2

The first time Jim met Spock—that he could remember beyond a vague impression—was twelve days before he was going to start kindergarten. He was sitting on the porch quietly while his mother attempted to convince the bank to give them more time before foreclosing on their house, and she was crying—he never wanted her to cry, and since usually her crying was because he was nearby, he’d left.

He loved it outside. The grass and the dirt, the wind and the worms; it was all so much better than being cooped inside with Sammy, who didn’t like anything and especially not the outside. Of course, he didn’t like Mommy either, and although Sam—in his almost eleven years of glory—had tried to explain it to him once as something he’d understand when he was bigger, Jim didn’t understand. He  _wanted_  to understand!

But he didn’t. And his mommy was yelling again at the men at the bank and that meant Sam had gotten his bike and ridden off, and that meant Jim was alone, to bury his feet in the dirt and squish his toes around morning wet grass while he waited for Miss Amanda to show up and take him to the park.

The aircraft that appeared in front of their house midway through his second imagined mote that he’d dug with his toes was familiar, and he grinned with loose teeth when the elegant woman emerged from the driver’s side. Miss Amanda always looked like a princess, like some sort of visiting fairy, even when Jim visited her on the weekdays and found her dressed in loose pants and flowery shirts cause that’s what the kids she taught music to expected. She always looked like…well, not like a mom, cause moms looked like his.

But she was his friend, maybe his only friend, so he squiggled his toes deeper into the dirt and pounced when she was close enough.

“Miss Amanda!”

She caught him, and didn’t seem to mind that he left sandy brown footprints all over her white skirt.

“Hello, sweetie!” she greeted, her eyes kind and brown and soft like the brownies she made sometimes, and Jim smiled while she smoothed his hair. She must have noticed he was covered in mud and whistling through loose teeth, but she always looked at him with the same affection.

Sam, when he was being mean, said it was because she was someone else’s mom, but Jim didn’t believe it. He knew about this phantom other kid, of course, because Sam complained about him a lot, but he was also always away at school, and he never interfered with Jim’s and Miss Amanda’s play-dates, so Jim didn’t really care.

As soon as Jim’s feet hit the ground again, a strange, geeky looking kid emerged from the passenger side of Miss Amanda’s aircar.

Miss Amanda smiled at Jim, and patted him on the cheek.

“That’s my son Spock. I’ve told you about Spock before, haven’t I?”

Jim shook his head stubbornly. If he didn’t admit it, it wasn’t true.

“That’s him—it’s his summer vacation too, but he had some more classes to finish before he could come home. Play nice, okay, while I talk to your mother?”

Jim nodded reluctantly, but only because he wanted Miss Amanda to smile at him again, and smile she did. Then, she squeezed him to her hip once more in a brief hug and disappeared into the house, not afraid of his mom’s shouting like Jim was.

The kid, Spock, was only a little bit taller than Jim, something that was obvious when he came and stood next to him on the porch. Jim scowled at him.

“Hello, Jim,” he said in response, sounding more like a broken toy than a boy, and Jim huffed before he sat down again, kicking his feet into the dirt. Miss Amanda wouldn’t take him to the park if he didn’t put on shoes, but that was probably why she was talking to his mom anyway—she was probably cancelling so she could spend time with this  _other_ kid.  _Her_  kid.

“Jim?”

The kid moved into his line of vision, blocking out most of the sun. Jim sighed.

“Hi,” he responded quietly, because only bad little boys ignored people, and Spock sat down next to him.

“Is something wrong?”

Jim shrugged, and dug his feet into the dirt. Spock looked scared of the dirt, and so Jim held up a big scoop.

“Nope. Wanna play with me? Sam never plays with me,” he said, almost hoping Spock would say ‘no.’ Most people said ‘no.’

“…what are you playing?” he asked instead. Jim was surprised, and excited.

“Kindergarten. See? Kinder-garden.” Spock didn’t understand, but that was okay—he was listening. “You know—if you’re a kid and you don’t go to kinder-garden, you don’t grow up. See?” Jim emphasized his point by digging his toes further into the dirt, and then standing, holding his arms out like tree branches. Spock just watched him.

“Do you require water?”

“Huh?”

“To grow.”

Jim thought about that for a minute, and then dropped his hands in defeat.

“Yeah, I guess I do.”

“One moment.” Spock darted back to the aircar and opened the door he’d come out of. Jim was confused, until he emerged again carrying a mostly full water bottle.

He handed it to Jim without a word, and Jim—more than happy—dumped half of it on his feet. The squishy, cold feel of the mud made him smile, and then he looked over at Spock, who was sitting a safe distance away.

“You need to grow too,” he said simply, “cause you’re short.”

Spock responded by taking off his shoes and socks, and standing next to Jim on what little dry dirt was nearby.

“I am not short—Vulcans do not experience growth spurts at the same periods that humans do, with the first major growth occurring in our fourteenth year.”

Jim nodded like he understood, but he wasn’t really listening. Cause Spock had pointy ears and  _green tipped toes_ , and that was like the coolest thing ever. Jim would  _love_  to have green toes.

He extended the water bottle, and Spock—although he hesitated noticeably—took a deep breath and dumped it on his feet.

Miss Amanda was not amused to find them covered in mud when she emerged to take them to the park, but that was okay; Jim was having the time of his life anyway.

********

Even four months into the year, kindergarten wasn’t going well for Jim, and Jim was pretty sure it was because Mr. Mitchell liked his mom a lot. He was also pretty sure that Mr. Mitchell had taught Sam, and that Sam had set the reptile tank on fire, and that their mom didn’t like Mr. Mitchell back at all. Jim didn’t blame her—Mr. Mitchell smelled like dead fish a lot, cause he did things with fish oil—and he had a smile that was almost entirely on one cheek. He looked like a shark that had been hit in the face, and Jim didn’t like him much either.

But it still wasn’t fair that he had to sit inside while the other kids played, and all because he’d wanted Mr. Mitchell to read a book other than  _Red Fish, Blue Fish_. He wasn’t a baby, and he’d said that…and he’d made one of the little blonde girls next to him cry, and then he’d been sent to the corner. But he thought at least he’d be able to play outside…if he didn’t throw mud at Kyle again.

What? It wasn’t  _his_  fault that Kyle had called Spock a goofy-looking alien, or that Jim thought the best solution was mud to the face. But Kyle didn’t  _know_  Spock…and it wasn’t Spock’s fault that he couldn’t go back to school right now because bullies were the same on any planet, and so he hung around with Jim.

Honestly, it was all Kyle’s fault. And Mr. Mitchell’s. And those Vulcan bullies. Not theirs.

It wasn’t  _fair._

Jim sighed, but it was a sound that went unheard as he sat perfectly still in his desk, watching Mr. Mitchell eat cashews and mark on the drawings they’d done that morning.

“Can I go outside?” he asked, trying his best to look innocent. Mr. Mitchell looked up, and looked exasperated.

“No, Jim. You weren’t very nice today, remember? You made Becky cry, you kicked Aaron for taking your seat, and then you told Ms. Eule that she looked like a Gorn.”

“She  _does_  look like a Gorn.” Jim insisted, scrunching his face up as he thought about it. Gorns were  _cool_  though—it had been a compliment. Well, sort of. “And she wasn’t very nice to Spock yesterday.”

Mr. Mitchell set down his pencil and folded his hands, like the teachers of the older kids did. If Jim had been closer, he would have seen if he could kick those hands.

“Jim, we’ve talked about this. A school suspension is valid for all school districts in the Federation, and your friend’s not allowed on school grounds.”

Jim sulked, and kicked his feet from side to side, hoping that he could at least grass strain Mr. Mitchell’s nice slacks.

“…I just wanted to have lunch with him.”

There was no response; Mr. Mitchell had already gone back to his papers.

********

Jim always waited for Sam to walk him home, but usually—especially when he was kept a little late—Sam went home without him. But Jim had long since memorized the comm number he needed, and so when he was left waiting outside for too long, he darted to the nearest desk inside the school and asked to use the phone.

Miss Amanda never minded picking him up, although she usually had words for his mother and his brother when she did, and since Spock had returned home, she’d spent more time at home too. Still, Kaluna wasn’t very far away and certainly not by aircar, and so Jim considered it worth the twenty minute wait, cause it meant he got to see his two favorite people in the whole world.

When they got there that day, they did not look happy, neither Spock nor Miss Amanda, and Jim thought it said a lot between them. Spock was usually unhappy, but Miss Amanda was almost always honest cheer and good manners. Today, however, they looked like they’d had a fight. A real fight.

Jim couldn’t help but feel scared. Sara’s parents lived in different houses now—what if parents could do that with kids? It was too terrible to think about, and so when he climbed in the backseat, he took both their hands.

Spock jumped, and Miss Amanda looked…sad?

“Don’t be upset, okay? As long as you’re together…” Jim trailed off, but the words seemed to have worked, because the front seat was a little less tense after that.

“I’m not upset, Jim,” Miss Amanda said, having long since stopped calling him ‘sweetie’ after he told her it made the big kids look at him funny. “Spock, do you want to go sit in back with Jim?”

Spock nodded shortly, and unbuckled his seatbelt before shimmying to the seat next to Jim and re-buckling. When the aircar began to move, it was in complete silence…and then a warm hand touched his, just barely brushing.

“Spock?” Jim asked, just to check, and he looked over to see that Spock had his eyes closed.

“I’m sorry you had a bad day, Jim.”

Jim twisted in his seatbelt, curious, but Spock had already moved away.

“Spock, what’s wrong?”

Spock blinked at him in open uncertainty, and then he sighed, body deflating just barely.

“I was suspended for fighting, Jim. That’s not very Vulcan. And…Sepek called Mother this morning. She wouldn’t tell me what he said, and when I tried to…find out, she became angry with me.”

“Oh. Miss Amanda is mad?”

“I’m not  _mad,_ ” Miss Amanda interrupted from the front seat, and Jim jumped. “I just don’t think it was for children’s ears, that’s all. And I don’t understand how this keeps happening to you, Jim. Doesn’t your mother know to come get you when Sam gets home without you?”

“Momma is trying to get back into Starfleet, and she can’t watch us all the time,” Jim quoted, directly from Sam. Miss Amanda looked annoyed.

“That woman…” She trailed off, but Jim had overheard the neighbors, and he helpfully supplied the rest.

“…is a no-good child neglector?”

This time, it was Miss Amanda who jumped.

“I’m sure your mother loves you very much, Jim,” she hedged, carefully avoiding either agreement or disagreement. “She’s just…not terribly responsible or selfless, and you have to be a little of both to be a good parent.”

Jim nodded and smiled, and scooted close to Spock even though he knew his friend didn’t like it usually. Spock was his bestest friend, though, and that was why he didn’t push Jim away.

“It’s okay, Miss Amanda—once she’s done getting back into Starfleet, momma will have time for us again.”

“Oh, honey…” Miss Amanda fell into silence, but Jim barely noticed, head too full of dreams of how things would be once his mom was in Starfleet—whatever that was.


	4. 1.3

Spock liked to think that after the first few difficult years at the Paan Moltan Learning Center for Young Children he had grown into a respectable Vulcan. While it was true that he was only ten years and five months of age, he considered this—after everything—to be enough of an adult that he was capable of making his own choices, and enforcing them. He had completed numerous aptitude tests to this effect, in fact, and so Spock felt justified—very justified—in his decision on the matter.

“Mother, I do not believe it is either wise or acceptable to have dinner with that man.”

His mother paused in putting on the ceremonial eye decoration adult human females seemed to favor, but only long enough to look at him sternly.

“Spock, Mr. Hensen—Carl—is a very nice man, and he asked me to dinner in a  _professional_  capacity.”

Spock did not budge an inch from his position on her comforter, simply watching her don her makeup. She never wore makeup except for the occasional lotion to smooth her skin, and he found the variety of new smells…displeasing, almost as much as the situation itself.

“He is your student; it is inappropriate. And you do not like him.”

His mother’s sigh echoed through the room and puffed against the mirror as she curled her eyelashes with a frankly frightening instrument.

“Spock, I like Mr. Hensen just fine. It’s not his fault he can’t tell the white keys from the black when playing the piano; some people just aren’t musically inclined.”

Spock considered the comment very generous, as he had heard Mr. Hensen’s attempts thrice in the three weeks since he had arrived back in Kaluna, and he did not believe a simple misunderstanding was the cause.

“Very well.  _I_  don’t like him.”

She smiled; her pinks lips were reflected in the mirror as she finished, but when she turned back to him, her face was unexpectedly sober.

“But he likes you, baby.”

Like one of the many experiments he had conducted over the years, the final result allowed every theory to fall into place. His mother—for all the bias he held for her—was only an animal, like so many; of course she would operate as they did.

The logic didn’t manage to clear the seemingly lodged object from his throat, however, and he looked down at the gentle pink paisley beneath him.

“I know why you’re doing this mother, and I do not agree. I do not need an adult male in my life at this time.”

Her hand came to rest on his knee, and she sat next to him in her flowing lavender gown, looking even more like a young woman who was not his mother than she had previously.

“Spock, you’re going to be a teenager in just a few short years. I won’t say that Mr. Hensen can be a father figure, but he could at least be a help when you need it, even if we just remain friends.”

Spock stiffened immediately.

“I do not need a father—I  _had_  a father.” And true, Spock did not remember him well from his own memories, but his mother had never neglected that aspect of their lives; even as much as it pained her, she had always shared anecdotes when she deemed them necessary, and Spock felt as if he knew Sarek through those stories alone.

It had been a long time since she’d shared them, however, and the reason was reflected back at him when he looked up at her: determination. Resignation. Acceptance.

“I know, sweetie. And I loved your father very much, and I’ve shed tears for him for over five years now—”

“Five years, nine months.”

“—but I can’t cry forever. Do you understand that, Spock?”

Spock didn’t, but no matter how much he protested, he did not want to see her unhappy.

He supposed he could tolerate Mr. Hensen, so long as he stayed away from the piano.

“May I at least go visit Jim while you are away?”

She chuckled, and Spock was warmed by secondhand amusement.

“Are you asking me to bribe you, sweetie?” Spock was appalled by the very idea, and she laughed as it was reflected on his face. “Yes, of course you can visit Jim. Aunt Doris can even drive you.”

“That is not necessary. I will take the bus.” Spock had met Aunt Doris only six times, and each time on a holiday. He was loath to break the habit.

“Suit yourself. And sweetie?” Spock waited, and she pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead that he made a show of wiping away. “Don’t talk to strangers. And don’t go anywhere without an adult, okay?”

“Yes, Mother,” Spock agreed. He suspected he would have no choice to disobey, but he was willing to do so safely.

His mother smiled at him before she turned away, looking more excited than he could remember her ever being.

********

Spock did not bring a jacket or coat with him on the short shuttle bus ride from Kaluna to Riverside, primarily because the weather was promised to be on the warmer side of temperate that evening and the month of June was unusually dry this year. In short, it was ideal weather for Spock, and he considered the complaints of his fellow passengers—one older gentleman and two Andorian women—to be mostly superfluous.

He was inclined to believe the weather was actually “hot,” however, when he arrived at the station, made the short walk to the Kirk farmhouse, and found Samuel panting on the steps in shorts and a t-shirt.

Spock paused; for reasons he could not fully comprehend, whenever he wished to involve Jim in his activities, he often forgot to include Samuel in his calculations.

“Hello, Samuel.”

Samuel thankfully did not have the energy to do much more then “flip him the bird.”

“Can’t you stay at your  _own_  home, you freak? Jim has other friends, you know.”

Spock did not say that he knew that; to him, it made perfect sense that Jim would often be surrounded by friends, and that he made a special provision for Spock when he arrived. For that reason, he was expecting Jim to be busy, but he found he did not mind waiting.

“Of course. When will he return?”

Samuel looked at him like he was stupid; it was something Spock rarely encountered.

“He’s out back, playing in the dirt. God, you’re so dumb sometimes.”

Spock nodded his thanks, but before he left, he helpfully reminded Samuel that humans were proven to be intellectually inferior in nearly every area in comparison to Vulcans.

********

Jim and Spock decided on ice cream because Spock had never had it and Jim—much like his brother—was sweating and giving off an unpleasant stench that he was assured ice cream would cure. Evidence proved this was not the case, but Spock found he did not mind, as the few licks of vanilla ice cream he tried before he began to shiver beyond what he considered pleasant were…interesting. As smooth as jellied  _hirat_  and nearly as sweet as  _pla-savas_ , the ice cream was certainly worth the trip, and upon trying Jim’s rum raisin, he was even more pleased with the flavor.

Of course, the experience was tainted somewhat by the fact that Jim said not a word for nearly the entire hour they spent going to and from the ice cream parlor down the road. Spock would not have minded normally, but no matter how much training his telepathic shields had received in the past few years, Jim still gave off waves of hot anger and strong sadness, and the combination twisted his stomach more than the frozen cream.

“Jim,” he finally asked, “what is the matter?” Jim—who had turned seven years of age just three months ago—had taken to brooding when asked questions about his feelings, a change that Spock could not understand from the cheerful, somewhat naïve boy of last summer.

Thankfully, however, Spock was still Jim’s friend, and so he answered, very reluctantly.

“Mom’s getting married.”

Spock started, and his steps were mismatched from Jim’s by just a small fraction. He automatically corrected it.

“To Frank?” Spock asked, to confirm. If this was indeed the source of Jim’s current unhappiness, logic said that it was Frank, the man who had been an unwelcome presence in the Kirk household for nearly eight months.

“Yeah.” Jim scuffed his feet against the ground, and Spock waited. Surely the cause was more than this…and he was right.

“After their honeymoon, she’s going back into space. Her Starfleet position came through—lieutenant junior grade. Frank will be taking care of us.”

Spock hesitated—he was unfamiliar with human laws, and so he wondered, perhaps too intently, if two boys as obviously unhappy with the situation as Jim and his brother could actually be legally entrusted to a man they hated.

“Is that…allowed?”

“Yeah. Frank’s not evil; he’s just an asshole, or that’s what Sam says.” There was a pause, and when Jim spoke again, his voice was very small. “Hey, Spock…do you think you could stay with us this summer? Not just a day or a week, but…the whole time?”

Spock shivered, but only partially from the cold.

“Jim, surely you must want time for your other friends.” Spock felt certain that, if he were a human child and friends with Jim, he would experience jealousy upon learning his friend intended to abandon him for the summer.

“What other friends? Come on, Spock—it’ll be fun.” The abrupt change of tone surprised Spock, but he shook his head.

“I have permission from my mother only for tonight. I will ask for further days.”

Jim was shaking his hand almost before he was finished, and he shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket that—on second thought—he shrugged off and handed to Spock. Spock accepted, because he had always wondered if the corduroy texture was rougher than that of the fabric Jim normally wore; it wasn’t.

“No, don’t worry about it—it was a stupid idea anyway.”

Spock suspected that was not the case—he felt, perhaps for the first time, that his company was something Jim desperately wanted—but he felt it was better not to press.

“Alright, Jim.”

They walked back to the Kirk farmhouse in silence, but Spock didn’t miss the way that Jim’s hand brushed his far too often.

********

Spock considered staying the night only because Jim looked at him with desperation when he attempted to leave, but in the end, Spock was unable to reach his mother and ask for an extension; contrary to the popular human saying that it was better to ask for forgiveness than permission, Spock had found the opposite was usually true when dealing with his mother, and perhaps all parents. It did not bother him, but he made a note to ask his mother if he could regularly keep Jim company over the summer months, as she had decreased her own visits noticeably since the last fight she had had with Miss Kirk.

But by the time he arrived home and found his mother sitting at the table, looking shocked and with her make-up smudged on one cheek, he forgot all about his request, and Jim.

“Mother? Mother, are you alright?”

She looked startled to see him despite the fact that she must have heard the door open, and she wiped at the black streaks around her eyes ineffectively.

“Spock? I’m sorry, baby, what were you saying?”

“Mother.” He said nothing else, simply walking up to her and wrapping his arms around her waist and holding, holding. Her breaths were steady.

“Well, you were right about that being a bad idea, sweetie.” She gave him no details, but Spock could imagine—there was terror around her, and anger, and disgust, and there must have been policemen there, because one of them had forgotten his hat. The details, however, didn’t matter. Whatever had happened, his mother was alright. She was fine.

But she held him close anyway, and Spock felt something else: profound relief that he had not been here.

“Did you have a good time at Jim’s, Spock?” she asked, still dabbing her eyes, and Spock remembered.

“Yes. Mother—”

The comm unit in the kitchen chimed, and they both jumped. Thankfully, the smudges around her eyes were less now, and so when she answered the call, her video was composed, as his mother always was.

Spock was surprised to see Ambassador Sepek, however. Although, clearly, not as surprised as Sepek was to see his mother dressed outside of her usual attire.

“Miss Grayson,” he greeted, but he was blinking rapidly. “I was…unaware that you favored lavender.”

His mother smiled, perhaps indulgently. Spock suspected the evening would end with her being angry at the Ambassador, as their comm calls—‘negotiations,’ his mother called them—often ended with shouting.

“It’s not something I would expect you to know, Ambassador.” She paused, but nothing was forthcoming from the other end. “Ambassador? Was there something you needed?”

Ambassador Sepek blinked very rapidly again, and shook his head.

“Forgive me—the matter will have to wait. I have another errand I must attend to.”

He hung up before she could respond, and she laughed. Spock was watching, curiously, when she looked at him, clear amusement on her face.

“That man, I swear! Sometimes I don’t think he’s very Vulcan at all.”

Spock paused, remembering the comm call he had answered while his mother had been showering two weeks ago.

“Ambassador Sepek said the same about you.”

“Did he?”

“Yes. He also said that this was not a defect.”

His mother wore an odd expression at the statement, but if Spock had to guess, he would say it was…pleasant surprise.

“Did he?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” She smiled then, brightly. “I’ll have to remember to thank him the next time he calls, then.”

Spock considered saying that was a very bad idea, but he did not get the chance, as his mother took his hand and pulled him up the stairs.

“Come on—let’s get rid of all this make-up, shall we? And then I’ll treat you tomorrow—to anything you want.”

It took Spock nearly an inch of Vaseline to remove the rest of the make-up, and it took nearly as long to decide, in the end, that he wanted ice cream.


	5. 1.4

Jim had never seen Kaluna himself, personally—it seemed strange to him, but after knowing Miss Amanda for (according to most sources) at least seven years, he had never been to her home. Not because he didn’t want to go or because she didn’t offer…but rather because  _his_   _own_  mother was afraid that he would run off as soon as he got the chance, just like Sam did the first and second times. It wasn’t really a justified fear, though; Jim—right up until his eighth birthday ten months ago—had clung to his mother like a baby gorilla terrified of falling, and wouldn’t have ran away even if he’d had somewhere to go.

Of course, that had been before she’d left the planet for a year-long mission, and before she’d married Frank. And because Frank didn’t care one single bit about whether Jim ran away (he probably would have preferred it, actually) he was more than happy to dump him on a bus bound for Kaluna to attend what was—to Jim at least—everything he’d always wanted: Spock’s birthday party. And because Jim wanted so desperately to go, he didn’t even care that Frank was drinking earlier than usual, or that Jim had found his coin jar emptied out again that morning, or that Sam was hanging out with those much older kids who smelled like cigarettes and pushed Jim in the mud when his brother wasn’t looking.

It was Spock’s birthday party. It was the first time Spock had been on Earth in January that Jim could ever remember, and usually when Jim saw him in the summer—under damp heat and sometimes even in the sticky indoors—Spock absolutely refused to accept presents; it made being his friend hard sometimes.

But not this time. Jim had gotten him the best present ever, and Spock would be so excited. Jim was his best friend in the whole universe, and nobody knew Spock like Jim did…and Spock would be so happy. Jim couldn’t help but bounce up the steps of the unfamiliar house at the thought, knowing that—whatever else happened during the brief break Spock had for his school’s renovation—it would be the best night ever.

At first, Jim enjoyed himself. Miss Amanda was happy to see him and hugged him close to her body and she smelled like cookies, which Jim had never smelled homemade. She even introduced him to the few other kids who were there—all Vulcan—to wish Spock a happy birthday out of respect for his human heritage, and they were even polite enough to Jim. None of them wanted to play with him, but that was fine—they were big kids, and Spock was the only big kid who had ever wanted anything to do with Jim. It was why Spock was his favorite.

But then, things started to go bad. Spock might have been Jim’s favorite, but to see him talk to his other friends, it was like Jim wasn’t there at all. And there was cake—gross Vulcan cake—which Jim couldn’t eat, and although he quietly munched on cookies instead, the taste of real butter didn’t entirely make up for the fact that he stood out, quiet and isolated in his blue jeans and corduroy jacket while the others talked about things Jim didn’t really understand, sometimes even in Vulcan, and in their clean black robes. And it didn’t help that Miss Amanda was distracted because of something, and that every time Jim smiled at her, her answering smile started to look more and more like the one his own mother wore.

Jim wasn’t having fun. Spock wasn’t paying attention to him and Miss Amanda wasn’t as cheerful and loving as she usually was, and he  _wasn’t having fun._

But then time came for the presents, and Jim was on the edge of his hard-backed wooden chair.  _This_  was where Spock would look up, and see him for the first time this evening. This was where Spock would finally look at him, and say “Thank you, Jim” and promise to love his present forever, and kick the other kids out because they didn’t matter. This was where Jim would feel rewarded, and loved, and cherished, because he had spent an entire day looking for the _perfect_  present for Spock, and Spock would just know.

The first present Spock opened was an advanced tricorder—one used by entry-position scientists all over the universe. Jim got excited, because he had saved up  _for months_ …but then Spock turned to look at the tall boy sitting next to him instead of Jim.

“Thank you, Solen.”

Solen nodded solemnly, not even surprised, and Jim felt cold. He felt his cheeks heat, and each present that was unwrapped only made him feel worse. They were all tricorders of some variation or another, and most of them were more expensive than Jim’s. Jim’s, which was the very last present opened, and which proved to be identical to the first.

Spock looked up, met his eyes, and said “Thank you, Jim,” but it wasn’t the same. That wasn’t how it was supposed to go, not when Jim had hidden money  _in the toilet_  just so Frank wouldn’t take it, not when Jim had resisted buying candy and even lunch for months so he could have the money. He wasn’t supposed to be just one of the group…he was supposed to be Spock’s  _best friend_.

But then Solen turned to Spock and said that he still had the receipt for the tricorder  _he_  had bought, and Jim felt ashamed, enough that he quietly left without a word. When he reached the living room, he wondered if he shouldn’t just take it one step further, and leave entirely…and so he did, walking outside into the dark field and onto the dirt road, hoping he remembered the way back to the bus station. He didn’t think to say goodbye, but then, he didn’t think either Miss Amanda or Spock would notice.

He was crying like a baby by the time he reached the end of their street, and he was sniffling something awful, dripping all over his only jacket and making a mess,  _like a baby._  A car passed by, its headlights too bright for his swimming eyes, and Jim sat down far away from the edge of the road, crying into his knees.

Sam would say he was being stupid, like he had when Jim used to cry when Frank and their mother would fight. Jim had stopped crying for that, because he was a big boy…but he cried now.

Jim didn’t even hear the sound of running footsteps, or the sound of a body sliding down slick grass. He did notice when Spock was suddenly  _there_ , though, looking out of breath and a little scared.

“Jim…it is fortunate that I was able to locate you.”

Jim sniffled, and he was glad it was dark; at least his puffy eyes weren’t visible, nor was his crying. He was a big boy.

“Sorry. I just wanted to go home.”

 “You are not having a rewarding evening?”

Jim shook his head mutely, and Spock looked crestfallen.

“Sorry I got you the same gift as everyone else,” Jim said, by way of explanation. Spock looked confused.

“Jim, I am honored by any gift you choose to give me, and I will treasure it always. Also, tricorders are very expensive, and I am aware that you are one of the few without the means available to buy them easily—I am honored.”

Jim looked away, and his face heated like it hadn’t except when he’d tried to give Becky a Valentine’s day card last year.  _This_  is why Spock was his favorite—he always said the right thing.

“Okay.” It was that easy.

“Will you come back inside? The other guests are leaving soon, and you were going to spend the night.”

Jim nodded quietly and Spock helped him up, something that seemed weird as it always did because Spock was still shorter than Jim was. But even when standing, Spock didn’t let go of his hand immediately, and they walked the thankfully short walk back in silence, only the sound of their shoes crushing mud audible over Jim’s heart.

Spock released him as soon as they found the glow of Miss Amanda’s porch, but Jim didn’t mind; by the time they got inside, there were no adults and no Vulcan kids, just Miss Amanda setting out ice cream to thaw while she carefully packed away all eleven tricorders Spock had received that night…except Jim’s.

She smiled at him, and this time it was a little less strained.

“Jim, sweetie! Where’d you run off to?”

Jim swallowed, and waited for Spock to say something. He didn’t, cause Spock was great.

“Just outside. Is that rum raisin?”

Miss Amanda smiled.

“Yes—Spock said you liked it. Would you like some?”

Jim nodded and said “yes please” and sat at the kitchen counter, just him and Miss Amanda and Spock, eating their ice cream on stools and watching the swirling water in the dishwasher go round and round. Spock shuddered with every bite because Vulcans didn’t like the cold but Spock liked ice cream for some reason, and Jim was more than happy to accept the remains of his bowl. Miss Amanda laughed and told him not to make himself sick, but she didn’t do anything to stop him from chasing the floating raisins around the light brown ice cream soup at the bottom.

It was just like he’d dreamed.

********

That night, Jim found himself sleeping in a sleeping bag on Spock’s twin bed, the first time either of them had spent the night at the other’s house. It was quiet and peaceful and too hot, but Jim didn’t care, because every time Spock breathed, the side of his dorky hair cut would puff up and he’d make a funny whistling noise and Jim would try to stop himself from giggling. Then Spock would shift until his face was buried in the pillow and then he’d realize he couldn’t breathe and then he’d turn over again, and the cycle would repeat.

Jim finally wasn’t able to keep himself from laughing quietly, and Spock’s eyes snapped open.

“Sorry,” Jim whispered, because you whispered in the dark. It was just what you did.

Spock blinked rapidly and sat up, and his hair was mussed on one side, perfect on the other.

“It’s alright.” He lay back down, but this time, he faced Jim.

“Are you unable to sleep?” he asked instead, and Jim shook his head.

“Nope. Just watching you. You sleep weird.”

Spock frowned, and Jim laughed, squealed really. Somewhere above them, there were footsteps—Miss Amanda’s footsteps.

“Hush,” Spock said quietly, and Jim almost laughed again, until Spock clapped a hand over his mouth. Jim still tried to laugh; he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t remember the last time footsteps had just been footsteps, and not Frank in a bad mood waking him up to wash the car.

But then he heard it. It was very soft, like the crush of a new comforter against itself, and then it evened out to gulps, and cut off noises, all coming from upstairs. Jim would recognize it anywhere.

It was crying. Miss Amanda was crying.

Jim stared up at the ceiling, and Spock stared at him, clearly understanding.

“Ambassador Sepek called her this morning,” Spock explained quietly. “He told her he believed she had somehow infected him, because he was in love with her.”

It was Jim’s turn to stare, and stare he did.

“She thought I didn’t hear,” Spock continued, “but I was just down the hallway. I don’t think she knew how to respond.”

“Oh,” Jim said, like he understood. He didn’t—adults were weird. “Is that good?”

“I do not know. Ambassador Sepek is two years younger than mother, and his family will not approve.”

“Oh,” Jim repeated. Spock didn’t go on, and Jim stared up at the ceiling again, listening to the quiet sobs. If she was happy, why was she crying? And why would she be sad otherwise?

Jim rolled over to ask, but Spock was already asleep, thankfully with his mouth closed this time, and he didn’t wake up when Jim poked him. Jim, ever so hesitantly, grabbed the tips of three of Spock’s fingers in one hand, and closed his eyes.

He was glad he didn’t have adult problems to deal with.


	6. 1.5

The summer of Spock’s thirteenth year was an important one for many reasons. It wasn’t just because he had achieved the top grade in his year or because he was finally starting to grow as humans did, or even because his mother—for all of her protests—deemed it perfectly acceptable to share a professional dinner with Ambassador Sepek when he had gone nine hours out of his way (a dinner, Spock should note, where they both acted like children). No, that summer was also the beginning of a very important stage in Spock’s life, one that he believed was necessary for any Vulcan child who regularly visited Earth.

Specifically, that was the summer Spock learned to stop listening to Jim Kirk, specifically when he said the phrase “don’t worry, no one will know.” Although now that Spock thought of it, that should have been more than enough of a clue.

It had started out simply enough. Jim had recently entered his second decade in age, a meaningful number for humans that would stay in the double digit numbers until nearly the end of their lifespan, and Jim had celebrated—he said—by making his stepfather’s life as difficult as possible. Spock did not approve, not entirely; he had never met Frank, as the man worked long hours during the day now that the two boys he was charged with were capable of functioning in the house alone and—according to Jim—drank all night. Spock doubted the second description—he doubted a human male could imbibe alcohol for an entire night—but Jim assured him this was nevertheless the case, and so Spock was left with two reasons for why he had not met Frank, despite having seen Jim no fewer than six times that first month of summer.

In any case, “making Frank’s life difficult” often included disappearing from the Kirk farmhouse without explanation or warning, and Spock—ever conscious of his status as the older of the two, despite his size—had no choice but to follow.

Jim led him to a tree. By itself, it was not so unique—it was a ponderosa pine tree, and Spock had seen many of them throughout the state—but Jim informed him it was more than that, that it was magical, and Spock could see where the assumption came from; in a field that stretched on for miles, this was the only tree.

Of course, Jim had ruined the mysticism he’d claimed by promptly attempting to climb it, and if Spock were more cat than awkwardly-proportioned boy, he would have followed him if only to drag him back down again.

“Jim!”

“It’s okay, Spock—I’ve been climbing this tree for years!” was the response Jim shouted from the mid-branches, ten feet up. Spock did not believe him.

“Jim, if you were to fall—”

Jim dropped a clump of pine needles on his head, and Spock could not understand what had happened in just eighteen months to the kind,  _considerate_  boy he had known.

“Spock, I’m not going to fall. You wanted somewhere to read, didn’t you? Then read.”

Spock—feeling much put upon, and longing for the day when his growth would catch up to and then pass Jim’s—sat at the base of the tree and pulled out his padd, researching for his extracurricular project as he had intended to do that evening. For several minutes, he listened to the rustling of branches above him and the scrape of shoe soles against rugged bark, and although he tensed at every crack, the expected fall never came.

Spock sat under the tree for one point two hours, never saying a word or looking up, and Jim made noticeable sounds of triumph despite that fact that—if he was to be believed—he had reached the top of the tree no fewer than ten times. The provided shade was even pleasant when combined with the lack of breeze, and the muggy heat was much as Spock had come to expect of Riverside in July; all in all, it was what he had come to expect of any day spent with Jim.

The cracking that pulled him from his reading was deeper than before, and Spock would have been a fool if he did not think it heralded something different than just loose branches. He jumped out of the way instinctively…and had a perfect view of Jim falling in pure silence to land, hard, on his right hand side.

Spock surged forward, unable to place the way his heart was pounding, but thankfully, Jim stirred before Spock was even within reach.

“Oww…”

Spock heaved a sigh at the noise of pain; at least Jim was conscious, and from a fall of twenty-five feet, Spock was more than grateful that he was alive.

“Don’t move, Jim!”

Jim moved anyway, rolling from his side to his back. He cried out when the pressure was off his shoulder, and Spock was alarmed to see that his arm was bent at an impossible angle, as if a joint had somehow formed in the center of his upper arm.

“Jim, you have broken your humerus.” Spock paused, attempting to remember the basic human first-aid that—in her wisdom—his mother had shown him several years ago. Although he could not remember the steps exactly, Spock remembered the basic idea, and he shrugged out of his jacket, approaching Jim the way he had once approached an injured sehlat.

Jim just looked at him, and there were noticeable tears in his eyes. Spock was surprised that he was not sobbing—just eighteen months ago, he had cried at much less—but he did flinch when Spock tied the jacket in a loose sling for the broken limb.

“Jim, you require an ambulance. Studies have shown that if left untreated—”

“Spock,” Jim interrupted, his face red and with only the occasional tear slipping past his tightly closed eyes, “we’re not supposed to be here.”

Spock was not surprised, but it was a moot point. He retrieved his padd, and quickly used the emergency frequency to dial the Riverside City Hospital. He answered their questions shortly and succinctly, all the while keeping both eyes on Jim in the event that he should go into shock.

But Jim just breathed deeply and explained that this was not the first broken arm he’d had, although he would not explain where the first had come from. The sound of sirens broke their silence.

“Spock.” Spock waited, and Jim took another deep breath. “You should leave. I have to be stuck here, but there’s no reason you should get in trouble.”

Spock was appalled at the very idea.

“Jim, I am not leaving you to ‘face the orchestra’ alone.”

Jim looked at Spock with a faint smile as he crouched next to him, no doubt feeling amusement at the saying Spock had intentionally flubbed.

“Music, Spock. The music?”

Spock pretended to ponder the correction.

“A non-physical concept? All the more reason I should not abandon you.”

Whatever Jim might have said to that was interrupted by the appearance of a hovering ambulance and stretcher, and the matching police cruiser.

********

Spock found it unlikely that, when sitting in the waiting room outside of the Bone Mending Wing, it was Officer Cooper who arrived to ask him how exactly it was he had come to be trespassing on land that was not only off-limits, but belonged to the notoriously quick-to-shoot and slow-to-question Mrs. Lewis.

“Officer Cooper,” he greeted automatically, sitting as straight as he was capable. She smiled at him, her hair still crinkled, but now showing signs of white after just six years.

“Actually, it’s Lieutenant,” she corrected gently, poking at the badge she wore. She seemed amused by the entire situation, as she had been the last time Spock saw her, but Spock still knew to take heed—a promotion, after all, was rarely undeserved.

“My apologies, Lieutenant.”

“It’s okay, pumpkin.” Spock was startled by the affectionate term, especially since she did not seem like an affectionate woman. “Wanna tell me what happened?”

Spock raised his eyebrow as she pulled out a small recording device.

“Jim fell from a tree,” he stated simply, and she smiled.

“Yes, I know. Before that?”

“I wished to find somewhere quiet to read, and Jim led me to this tree. He attempted to climb it, succeeded, and fell. It is fortunate he survived.”

Lieutenant Cooper sighed, and she suddenly seemed older than even Spock’s mother.

“Jim Kirk’s been caught on and off that land for about six months now—I did warn him, every time, that he was either going to get hurt, or get in trouble. Rotten of him to drag you into it.”

Spock stiffened.

“Jim is not rotten. He is my best friend.”

“I’m sure he is, but facts are facts—”

“There was no sign,” Spock interrupted quietly. “There were no fences we had to cross, nor identifiable borders.”

“You said he led you there, and we’ve  _warned_  him—”

“I must have misspoken. I selected that tree; Jim wished to try another one.”

The amusement faded from her face, and she looked reasonably annoyed. Spock did not blame her; he suspected he was a poor liar.

“Lying isn’t going to help anything, Spock.”

“I am not lying. Vulcans are incapable of lying.”

She looked at him for a very long time. Spock expected, oddly enough, for her to see right through him, but he stared back without flinching, noting tat her eyebrows were unkempt, and the tiny pockmarks on her left cheek, as if she had recently skidded across gravel road. The small flaws did not help, and when she finally looked away, he was shaking.

“Alright,” she said, sighing as she replaced her device. “I don’t know if it will fly with Mrs. Lewis, the two of you ruining her property like that, but if that’s your story—”

“It is.” Spock realized how the confirmation sounded, and immediately corrected himself. “And the truth is not a ‘story.’”

Lieutenant Cooper shrugged, dismissing the matter far more easily than Spock was comfortable with; after all, he had been raised to believe that lying carried harsh consequences, even alongside the moral taint.

“Well, maybe you can help me with this, then. I can’t get a hold of Frank Basset—seems like he got off work early today, and nobody knows where he went. Also, Sam is missing—do you know how to reach either of them?”

Spock shook his head automatically, and he felt something like a twisting in his gut.

“Not Sam. And no, not Mr. Basset.” She waited, and Spock offered the only information he could. The only adult he knew that could be trusted. “However, my mother would be happy to help.”

Lieutenant Cooper nodded in understanding.

“Amanda Grayson, right?”

“Yes.”

She stepped away, making a short call on the hospital comm. When she came back, she looked relieved.

“She’s on her way.” She removed the recorder from her pocket and waved it once, twice. “Anything else you want to say before this becomes your official statement? Anything at all?”

Spock eyed the recording, and then Lieutenant Cooper. He didn’t have to look through the hospital window to see Jim’s bones being mended to know that something was wrong. Even if he had been tall enough to see through the transparent aluminum to the scene beyond, he doubted the visual would have revealed anything he didn’t already know.

“Yes. I do not believe that Frank Basset is a suitable guardian.”

Lieutenant Cooper looked tired, and she patted him on the head—a serious faux pas for a Vulcan child, but Spock accepted it for this time only.

“You and me both, kid. But trust me—the law works, and this is just one of those things. We’ll nab him eventually.”

Spock did not believe her.


	7. 1.6

Jim didn’t know what he was thinking. No, that wasn’t entirely true—he knew exactly what he’d  _been_  thinking.  _Sell my dad’s car?_  he thought.  _Over my dead body._  It had seemed like justice to him at the time—one of his dad’s last possessions (his  _real_  dad, the dad he would never know, that his mother had never spoken about even when she’d been around, and that made Frank fly into a jealous rage whenever Jim brought it up) and Jim had been his dad’s last gift to his mom. Not a good one, Jim would admit—with very few exceptions, nobody had ever considered him worth the sacrifice—but it was still a parallel. His dad’s favorite car. The son he’d died to save.

 

It had seemed poetic that they would go out together in a big ball of flame and glory, just like the movies, and it had even seemed like a good idea, going 120 down the highway in a huge vehicle of solid metal and glass. It had seemed like a good idea, right up until he’d seen the edge of that cliff, realized he didn’t really want to die, and he’d dived for the ground, feeling gravel bite into his hands and sand get between his teeth while he tried desperately to hang on to a surface that was trying to follow him over the edge.

It was terrifying. It was exhilarating. Jim didn’t think he’d ever felt anything like it, not when he was hiding from Frank, not when he played black eyes with Sam, not even when he sat with Spock. It was different and new and it made him feel  _alive_ , and it was something Jim gladly would have died for. Gladly.

Except then he’d been dragged, kicking and screaming, to jail by Riverside’s latest addition to the police force, and he’d seen every consequence lined up in front of him like the cell’s even bars. He didn’t want to go to jail. He didn’t want to be a criminal.

But, he realized as the night started to fall and Frank still didn’t show, it was a bit late to change that.

Jim didn’t know what he’d been thinking.

********

Of course it was Miss Amanda who bailed him out when all was said and done—when morning had come and Frank still hadn’t arrived, not even to pop him one good against the side of his head, the police department had started to look for other options. Sam wouldn’t show—last time Jim had seen him had been almost a week ago, and he’d been stoned out of his mind, and he was still underage besides. Frank obviously hadn’t shown, and so out of desperation, Jim gave them Miss Amanda’s name. The receptionist knew and understood immediately, and Jim sat in his cell quietly, feeling more ashamed by the minute.

Jim hadn’t wanted her to see him like this—either of them, really—and so of course when Miss Amanda showed up, it was with Spock in tow. Geeky, shot-up-like-a-weed Spock, who had been Jim’s best friend for years, and the reason Jim had behaved, up to a point, until recently. Very recently.

If he’d been in jail, he wouldn’t get to see Spock over the summers; that had been his logic, anyway, although he’d apparently ruined that idea, as well as their good opinion of him.

Miss Amanda looked…disappointed, and somewhat frail. Spock looked nothing at all—too interested in his current science project to care about Jim, maybe, although when Jim said “hi,” very quietly, Spock responded with his standard “hello, Jim.”

Jim hadn’t seen him for almost a year, and he was getting harder to read. More like an adult—an adult  _Vulcan_.

For the first time in his life, Jim didn’t feel comfortable around either of them, and even when Spock switched from the front seat to the back seat as he usually did, Jim still felt like he was sitting with strangers. The silence was overwhelming, and what Jim imagined  _real_  familial guilt felt like.

“I’m sorry, okay? It won’t happen again.” Of course, a large part of that was because there had only been one car, but Jim didn’t say that. He didn’t want to make them angry, because if he made them angry, they might take him home.

And home was where Frank was, probably. Waiting.

“Jim, what were you thinking? You could have been killed,” Miss Amanda replied from the front seat, looking annoyed and tense and altogether unhappy. Jim winced, and didn’t reply that that had been the plan initially.

“I’m sorry.”

“Jim,” said a soft voice to his right, and Jim turned to look at Spock. He had dots on his face, green ones—they looked like discolored freckles, but Spock had explained, once, before his face had lost the ability to show expression, that they were a result of puberty. “What compelled you to destroy your father’s automobile?”

“Frank’s not my father!” Jim snarled, and Spock looked startled—it was the first time Jim had ever yelled at him, and Jim couldn’t help but think—uncomfortably—that he sounded so much like Sam just then.

“I am aware. I was referring to George Kirk.”

Jim felt bad, instantly, worse than before.

“He was going to sell it, okay? And it’s not his.”

“Surely Winona could have prevented that,” Miss Amanda chimed in, sounding confused. Jim looked out the window.

“Who knows? I haven’t spoken to her in months.” And that was the cause of it all, really—Jim knew that, and it scared him, scared him like the idea that he’d never see his mother again. And as he was lost in thought, the scenery passed by; it was unfamiliar to Jim. “Are you taking me home?”

“No, Jim,” Spock replied. “You’re not going home. You are going to remain with us.”

Jim started, and he looked at Spock. Spock looked back at him.

“I’m going with you?”

Jim couldn’t believe it, and he was gaping, he knew he was. It was only his dream come true. Well, his  _second_  dream.

“Yes. Mother has petitioned the courts to—”

“Let me stay with you? Forever?” Jim interrupted, and Spock nodded, his hair slightly longer than usual to cover up the majority of the spots on his face.

“For an indefinite period of time. However—”

Jim lunged; even buckled securely in his seat, he was still able to wrap his arms around Spock, hugging him as he hadn’t since he was little.

“Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

The rest of the aircar ride back to Kaluna was silent, but Jim didn’t mind; he was going  _home_. And if he couldn’t have that family he’d dreamed of…at least he could have  _Spock’s_.

********

Spock adjusted to Jim living in his house on a more permanent basis quite quickly, for reasons that were no doubt associated with the fact that Jim—operating under poor family rules—was convinced that they would somehow discard him when faced with any behavior that was even slightly disobedient. This was, of course, not the case—his mother had a special fondness for Jim that had grown over time, and Spock…Spock had wanted to find Jim and protect him from everything that could have hurt him for almost a year, an emotion that was very illogical but very strong. It took all of his will to suppress it sometimes, at least enough to make certain that the legal issues could be tackled first.

It was a stroke of good luck that the police—when searching for Frank Basset—had found him cursing the heavens and threatening anyone in his way. Had they not, the file for reckless endangerment of a child would most likely have been stalled for several more months, basking in bureaucracy while Jim slowly shriveled, or perhaps broke more bones that would not be explained. As it was, Spock and his mother had caught a break, aided by the continued courting of a powerful ambassador and the foolish decision of a man with severe substance abuse problems. If all went well, Jim would not only be living with them for the remainder of his childhood years, but Frank would be incarcerated for child abuse and neglect, perhaps even sparing the still-missing Sam a similar fate.

In Spock’s mind, the situation had no downsides. And if Jim developed an annoying habit or two after becoming comfortable with them again…he considered it acceptable, as he would be leaving for school in only a few short months. He was both elated and properly disappointed at the prospect.

But that was before he heard Jim crying one night.

Spock was uncertain how to deal with young humans on the brink of puberty; he was uncertain, because the past few months of interacting with Jim had been odd, stifled, and all of Spock’s attempts had backfired spectacularly, no doubt a result of Spock’s own unfamiliar body. So—operating under the assumption that he would be an unwelcome intrusion—Spock ignored him that first night, and the second.

After a week of this, Spock began to believe that he was wrong, and he slipped on quiet feet to the guest bedroom, easing the door open without so much as a creak with hands that felt too large for his body. The sobs were louder, now, although still muffled—Spock was not surprised that his mother had not heard them.

“Jim?”

Jim sucked in a deep breath and sat up in bed, eyes wide and panicked and glistening. He was breathing erratically, and in great gasping gulps.

“Spock?”

“Jim. It’s alright.” Spock was not human, but he knew Jim, and acted as he always had. It did not occur to him that, as a teenager, he should behave differently, and so he sat on the edge of Jim’s bed and carefully held out his arms.

Jim eyed him suspiciously for a moment—the barest of seconds—and then he accepted the offer gratefully. He didn’t cry anymore, but instead he clung, because he was only a child no matter how smart he was.

“Jim, you may always come to me when you’re upset,” Spock murmured, and meant it. He stayed in his not exactly perfect posture all night, until long after Jim had fallen asleep, and he considered the aching muscles a small price to pay for his friend’s peace of mind.

Three nights later, when he woke up to find Jim calmly sleeping on the edge of Spock’s own bed, he considered it also a small price to pay, and he went back to sleep.


	8. 1.7

Jim didn’t particularly like his science class. Not because he didn’t like science—he’d lived at Miss Amanda’s for almost a year and a half, and the options were either learn to like science like Spock or kill him—but rather because junior high science wasn’t real science. They tried as much as they could, but the seventh grade in a small school in Kaluna, Iowa wasn’t exactly the sort of place to get cutting-edge information, and considering Jim had a direct line to the smartest person he’d ever met, he found the hoops they made him jump through kind of ridiculous. Dissecting a frog? Building a roller coaster out of Hotwheels tracks? Jim could have done that when he was a baby, he was sure; heck, seventh grade science didn’t even have a specialized  _name_ —it was just “science.”

But there were things about it he enjoyed. For one, Summer always wore a low-cut blouse, and Jim was enough of a teenage boy that he considered the flat chest on display more than enough. For another, Miss Agatha seemed to like him even though he frequently dragged whatever class they were having into the physics of warp engines, and Bobby asked Jim to come to his birthday party, so they’d been good friends since then, even sitting together at lunch sometimes. It was hardly Jim’s worst class—that was geography—but it wasn’t his favorite…except today.

Today he could hardly sit still, could hardly keep from laughing. He threw a straw wrapper at Aaron who shot one back at him, and Jim was too busy watching the door and waiting to notice when it hit him in the ear. It didn’t help that they were supposed to be reading their textbook—Jim had already read it, twice—while they waited, and Jim could tell by Miss Agatha’s fervent glances at the clock that she was wondering if their guest speaker would ever show. Jim wasn’t worried.

He was the most reliable person Jim had ever known, and sure enough, not fifteen minutes had passed when there was a light knock on the door. Miss Agatha stood, peered out the small door window, and popped her head out. She looked excited enough that Jim was almost bouncing up and down.

Aaron leaned over his desk.

“What do you wanna bet they’re a total geek?”

Jim responded by throwing the balled up straw wrapped at him again, just before Miss Agatha popped her head back in.

“Class, we have a special guest today—I’d like you to meet Mr. Spock, who has recently graduated as the first in his class on Paan Moltan, is currently in the running for an exclusive exchange program at the Vulcan Junior Science Academy, and holds an A-6 rating in computer sciences!”

She didn’t tell them to clap, but Jim did anyway when Spock’s too-skinny form slipped through the partially open door. He’d gotten even taller since the summer; it seemed impossible to Jim, but he also still had those crazy green pimples on his face and still sort of looked like an overstretched Super Stretch Armstrong, so Jim didn’t worry about it that much.

And besides, Jim had asked him to come.

“Thank you,” Spock responded to Miss Agatha’s introduction, his voice the only thing about him that was fully grown. As soon as he spoke, whispers broke out among Jim’s classmates, no doubt the result of seeing the resident Vulcan up close. “Of course, I had been led to believe this class was significantly more well-mannered.”

The whispers died instantly, and Jim almost laughed. Bobby kicked him in the back of his knee.

“Thank you.” Spock didn’t speak immediately, and he didn’t need to—he just fixed his eyes on the mass of students in front of him, silently. They all shrank in their chairs from intimidation, and it was only then that Spock crossed his arms behind his back and began to speak.

“As some of you may be aware, computer science has been the fastest growing technological discipline for forty-nine years. In numbers and applications, it has greatly surpassed the luxury sciences of medicine and starship interior design, placing computers before human comfort. Despite the numerous skirmishes of the Federation with other warp-capable species, it has also not been second to the design of weapons systems, or warp engines, or stealth technology. Is anyone aware of why this is?”

Nobody answered right away, not even Jim. When someone did, Jim was surprised to see that it was in fact Summer, blushing like she’d been outside for hours.

“Is it because computer science runs everything else?”

“While this is indeed the case, this is not the cause. Anyone else?”

A previously unknown boy—mousy, and looking like a geekier version of Spock when he was younger—raised his hand.

“Is it because of probe development?”

Spock shook his head, but otherwise he did not move; it was the same stance he always took when Jim asked him questions.

“No, although probe development has been one of the longest running interests of computer science in space since before humans were capable of warp drive or Vulcans were capable of constructing viable ships for long space travel.” No one else’s hand was raised, and so Spock continued. “Computer science is the largest discipline simply because it is necessary.”

He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a thin rectangle, half the size of a pencil eraser, which he then placed in his palm. It glistened, and everyone in the class leaned forward.

“This is an integrated circuit. In its most basic form, it is composed of a semiconducting material with various other trace elements, and it can be as simple as a single circuit intended for a single purpose, or the vast array of circuits meant for starships, to control everything from the air breathed in space to the gravity to the food. The one I hold in my hand is currently used in everything from standard tricorders to comm units, and it performs many of the basic functions associated with artificial intelligence as we have so far developed.”

Everyone looked suitably impressed, Jim noted, and he was grinning his fool head off when Spock responded to their obvious interest by crushing the small disk into dust between his fingers.

“It is also highly fragile,” he explained, unnecessarily. “This chip requires a force of less than one pound to be crushed beyond functionality, and an energy burst of only one point five times the standard energy passing through it to become inoperative. This particular type of chip, it should be noted, is also one of the most reliable in existence, and is alongside many of its fellows in every starship the Federation has constructed for seventeen years.”

Jim whistled, but Spock only looked at him and said nothing as he pulled out a datapadd, and the reflection of the opened file was then projected on the wall behind him. It was a diagram of a circuit board—Jim knew enough to recognize  _that_ —but around it was only the thinnest layer of shielding. It made Jim nervous, and glad he was never planning to be in Starfleet.

“Shielding of the computer chips in starships is minimal, and one successful hit from a Klingon phaser bank into the main computer would cause a constitution-class starship to be without breathable oxygen in approximately two point six two seconds.”

The class fell into horrified silence, but Spock continued, citing facts as he was so suited to do.

“A infinitesimal crack or flaw in the device could also lead to shorted circuits, and the effects of such flaws range from large scale fires capable of consuming entire ships before the lack of oxygen in space extinguishes them, to electrical shortages that make food replicators non-functioning for some period of time. As of today, this is also the most advanced chip used regularly.” Spock paused, and waited for the information to be absorbed. Jim wished he could see the wide eyes of his classmates, and he reminded himself to ask Spock what it looked like afterwards. “Are there any questions?”

For the first time Jim could ever remember, everyone in class raised their hands. Spock answered their questions as best he could while still avoiding most of the technical details, but all in all, the lecture lasted well over their allotted fifty minutes…and nobody seemed to mind. There was a brief pause where the following class had to find seats inside, but after that, the “class” continued, almost until lunch.

Jim didn’t think he’d ever had such a good time in science class, and when it was finally over and Spock left—to loud applause from people other than Jim, he should note—Bobby tapped him on the shoulder.

“Jim, is that your brother? He’s kind of awesome.”

Jim didn’t correct him on the “brother” thing—it was way easier than explaining what Spock actually was, or the fact that Jim had always felt sort of like the adopted family pet more than a brother—but he did smile, expression lopsided.

“Yeah. Yeah, he is.”

********

Trying to find Spock during lunch was like trying to find a needle that was really popular with the other needles, and in a haystack; Jim gave up after he decided he’d see him back at Miss Amanda’s house and that he really just wanted a chicken sandwich anyway, and besides, Bobby hadn’t seemed too happy about being dragged all over the school—even in the  _dreaded_  library—to look for him. Oh well, Jim figured—it wasn’t like Spock would be around for much more than one day anyway.

But…Jim was kind of miffed not to run across his best friend in the entire universe until the last minutes of lunch, and even then he was surrounded by…well, Jim knew what they were called, but he was also pretty sure Miss Amanda would slap him if he said it out loud. Jim just settled for calling them the older girls, a silly breed who wore tiny shorts in November and tank tops that were just barely allowed, and followed Spock around like he had given them a lecture on something other than computer science. The most known of them was a girl named Kellee Baker, and although she was about Spock’s age, Jim couldn’t help but think she was so much younger than him.

Jim had never spoken to her personally, but he watched her follow Spock around and invade his space even after the others had left, and Jim found himself scowling, and forgetting he was just a seventh grader and she was a ninth grader, and that he shouldn’t talk to her at all. And then as soon as Spock disappeared inside the bathroom—probably to get away—Jim appeared at her side.

“Hello. Kellee, right?”

She looked at him in surprise, and like ninth graders looked at seventh graders who suddenly started talking to them for no apparent reason.

“Yes. Who are you?”         

Jim shrugged.

“Jim Kirk, and he’s not interested.”

She shot him a disbelieving look.

“What?”

Jim jerked his thumb to indicate the bathroom, and although her gaze followed him, it was confused.

“Spock. He’s so far out of your league that you shouldn’t even bother making a fool of yourself.”

She flushed red underneath her tan, and Jim waited.

“You little—”

“Seventh grader,” Jim finished patiently, “and yes, I know. I’ll rue the day I ever embarrassed you. Anything else?” She scoffed, the sound disbelieving, but she still didn’t move. Jim made a frustrated sound, impatient. “Well? Beat it.”

She did, and by the time Spock emerged, he saw only Jim.

“Interesting. I was under the impression that she was not inclined to cease shadowing me.”

“I guess she had places to be.” Spock nodded along with the explanation, and Jim held up his tray. “Celery stick?”

Spock accepted one and they munched in silence. Jim wanted to say “congratulations,” and “you’ll get the spot for sure” because he knew Spock was nervous about the entire thing, but he didn’t get a chance.

 _“Jim Kirk, please report to the principal’s office._ ”

 _Oh dang,_  Jim thought, scowling as he hurried down the hall and Spock followed. He should have known Kellee would tattle, although he hadn’t expected it to happen that fast.

When he burst into the principal’s office, however, Jim didn’t see Kellee. And who he did see meant he couldn’t breathe.

It was his mom.  _His mom._  She was sitting in one of those puffy burgundy chairs in the waiting room and talking to the principal, and she was so much thinner than Jim remembered, and pale from being in space for years on end. And her hair was short, shorter than he’d ever seen it, and browner too.

 She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, like something he remembered only from his dreams, those stupid silly dreams he’d had when he was younger, back when he’d been left with Frank, and then when he’d first started to live with Miss Amanda and Spock. Those stupid dreams that still haunted his nights.

“Mom?” It was a croak, almost scared, and she turned. Her brown eyes—which used to fill with old sorrows and guilt and all sorts of things Jim couldn’t remember understanding—were nothing but hesitantly happy.

“Jimmy? Is that you? God, you’ve gotten so big.”

Jim didn’t say anything, just taking a deep breath and standing there, always standing there. A lifetime ago, he would have rushed to hug her…but now he couldn’t make his feet move forward. It was okay, though; she came to him, and put a palm on his upper back, rubbed his shoulders.

“Honey?”

Jim was aware that Spock was standing behind him, but for the first time ever, it didn’t matter.

“Mom, I wanna go home.” Even with Frank. Even with Riverside, and broken bones, and the cops. He would go anywhere just to see her smile at him like that, like she loved him.

“I know, Jimmy—I’ve already filled out the paperwork.”

Jim almost heard Spock stiffen.

“I was not informed of this.”

“You’re not his legal guardian,” she replied, looking almost sharp for half an instant. “Besides, Amanda knows.”

Jim waited in silence, and his mother petted his hair. Her words flowed over him like happiness, and it bubbled up inside him.

“I divorced Frank two months ago, baby—he won’t bother us again. Sam’s back home, too, so you’ll have someone to talk to. And I just finished talking to Principal Richard, here, and he said it won’t be any problem at all to have you transferred.” Jim swallowed reflexively, and she just continued to smile at him, saying those blessed words he’d dreamed about for so long. “Come on, Jimmy—let’s go home.”

Jim smiled like he hadn’t in a long time.

“Jim…”

It was Spock’s voice, and Jim looked at him, pulled out of the daze of dreams come true. He looked blank, and so Jim smiled, the expression determined.

“It’s okay, Spock.”

“He can come visit you, honey,” his mother chimed in, and Jim nodded hurriedly.

“See? You can come visit. And I can come visit you, just like before.”

Spock nodded slowly.

“Of course, Jim. Should I inform Mother that you are returning to pack your things?”

Jim looked up at his mother, only to see her shaking her head.

“I already have—she said she’d mail them.”

Jim thought that was odd—really, really odd—but he didn’t overthink it. Overthinking things was for scientists, and Jim wasn’t a scientist. Had never wanted to be.

“Tell Miss Amanda bye for me, okay Spock? And thanks.”

Spock nodded, and Jim turned away, more than happy to hold his mother’s hand as they walked out to the car where Sam was quietly skulking. He didn’t mind that the other kids were probably laughing at him, either, and he was settled in the backseat of a new aircar, with promises of a second chance and a better family.

When he looked up at the steps, though, he didn’t see Spock at all.


	9. 1.8

Although Spock had trouble pinpointing the exact sequence of events that led to his mother’s second marriage, he wasn’t such a child that he provided more than a token protest when presented with the news that she had accepted a proposal from Ambassador Sepek. He was well into his seventeenth year, and he had recently been accepted to the Vulcan Junior Science Academy, a priming school for later achievements, one of just twenty-six Vulcan students of the entire population to attend, and free of charge. If this did not speak worlds to his status as an adult in everything except years, he did not know what did…and he was honored when, rather than expect him to sit through the tedious ceremony on the unfamiliar planes of Vulcan desert, his mother instead asked him to close up their house in Kaluna. It was an enormous responsibility, and one that Spock accepted well, dutifully cleaning and repairing as necessary and in manageable steps, all before calling the real-estate agent they had carefully selected.

It was a months long process, and one that Spock was displeased to note contained more memories than he was comfortable with. He did not think he had it in him to be nostalgic as humans were, but each room and decoration was a reminder of his childhood and the summers he had spent not entirely by himself. He wondered if that wasn’t why his mother had asked that the task fall to him; after all, it had been only one place in her life, and she no doubt had had months to cope with the fact that she had raised her child here, the only child she was ever likely to have. She had said goodbye to the familiar grounds, unused as they had been in recent years, and she was joining another (hopefully loving) family.

Spock, on the other hand, was forced to cope with the fact that he was moving on, more so than he would have liked. And although it was illogical to cling to things such as favorite chipped dinner plates, he wondered if he should not do so anyway, as an artifact to what were perhaps the most carefree days of his life. In the end he did not keep them or any such similar items, but the thought lingered, and he made certain to be more selective in the future. When the final day of the packing came and he found himself with a single room of belongings for their three bedroom house and nearly triple that amount of rejected garbage awaiting pick-up outside, Spock wondered if he might have been less selective, and if perhaps he should not attempt to examine the items a second time.

In the end, it didn’t matter—that evening brought rain, and it made the painting Spock had intended to do impossible. Unfortunate—he would be unable to finalize the finishing of the kitchen, and would have to sell it as-is; by Spock’s calculations, it would reduce the final selling price by point five percent.

He decided that didn’t matter also; there were already too many memories, and so, rather than linger on all that had passed, Spock quietly left the house and their remaining belongings for the movers who would arrive the following day, and he left to find a motel.

Spock found—much as he had every day for the past two years—that he didn’t want to stay here any longer.

********

If Spock had expected nothing else, he should have expected Jim Kirk, because if anyone had the capacity to locate him and show up at the seedy motel he stayed at in the middle of the night and break in, it was Jim.

He was wet, sopping wet, and Spock let him in without a word, this spectre of the past that he had not seen for almost two years. He had grown, although not to such an extent as Spock himself in his fourteenth year, and his hair had darkened. If Spock didn’t miss his guess, Jim also had the human affliction known as “pimples,” and he was wearing far too few clothes for September, even had they not been wet.

But none of this was important. What was important was that Jim didn’t look happy, and Spock could not fathom it; the last time he had seen his old friend, it had been with the brightest of smiles on his face as he left with the family he preferred, back to the home without Spock in it. Spock had considered it a kindness that he had left him alone, but now, he was not so certain…because he didn’t look happy.

“Jim.”

“Spock. Got a towel?”

Spock inclined his head, and fetched one of the standard white ones from the crooked towel rack in the motel bathroom. It was not up to his usual standards, but since receiving his initial inheritance—an impressive but finite sum—Spock had learned that he would need to understand and budget his money more thoroughly.

Jim dabbed at his hair and continued to say nothing, despite being in the wrong town and the wrong building and the wrong company for a Thursday night. Spock gave up.

“Would you like some tea, Jim?”

Jim nodded, and Spock used the small microwave he had to prepare two mugs, hot enough to burn. Jim sipped his automatically, and didn’t react to the temperature. Spock was concerned.

“Jim? Are you alright?”

“I didn’t know Miss Amanda was selling her house,” he said by way of response after he had sipped his tea, and Spock nodded.

“Yes. She has returned to Vulcan to be married.”

Jim blinked at him with eyes too blue, and too unhappy.

“Yeah? To that Ambassador guy?” The attempt at cheerful, casual conversation was almost pathetic, and Spock could barely stand it.

“Yes. She asked me to proceed with the sale in her absence.”

 “She did?” Jim somehow dimmed, and his smile was brittle and self-depreciating. “Of course she did; you wouldn’t have come back otherwise.”

Spock drained his cup carefully before answering.

“I assure you, I have visited her on every holiday, schedule permitting.”

“And me, Spock? Why didn’t you visit me?”

Spock wondered how Jim would like him to respond. The truth, perhaps…but the truth was that Jim had seen his perfect family within reach and tossed Spock aside like so much garbage, without even a protest or a backwards glance. His mother had cried for days after Jim had returned to Riverside, and moreso when Jim’s mother called and very politely asked them to stay out of their lives.

But Jim had owed them nothing—they had told him that, time and again—and Spock was not surprised to find that they were only substitutes. Not surprised, and certainly not angry…but Spock still drained his entire cup of tea before answering.

“That is irrelevant; you appear healthy.”

“I am. Healthy as can be.” The last was said with a laugh that faded quickly, and Jim looked down at the dingy grey carpet before speaking again. “Sam ran away again, but he’s an adult now—nineteen. I don’t think he’s coming back.”

“My apologies.”

“And Mom, she’s dating again—another guy like Frank. Charming bastard. Hates kids, at least when she’s not looking. And she says she wants to go back up in space, just for a few months this time. But it always started out that way before.” Jim swirled his cup and then he too finished drinking the pale liquid, staring at the empty bottom afterwards as though it held the answer to everything. “She tried, Spock. She really tried.”

The words were quiet, and Spock breathed out.

“Jim, it’s alright.” Was it? Spock was uncertain what he could do—without his mother’s house, his legal residence was shaky at best, and his power even more so.

But Jim didn’t seem to want help, and he simply handed back his cup.

“I’m cold, Spock. Can I…lay down?”

“Of course.” Spock didn’t care that his wet clothes would dampen the bedsheets, and he obligingly turned up the heat, aware that the thin covers would provide little in the way of warmth. Jim disappeared until only his head was visible, and Spock went to rinse their empty mugs in the bathroom sink.

When he came out, he was aware that Jim was watching him closely.

“Can you lay down with me?” The words were not very steady, buckling as they were with shivers and nerves, and Spock hesitated. He was aware that there was something different between two children sharing a bed and a seventeen year old sharing a bed with a fourteen year old, but in the end, he saw no harm to it, so long as he kept his distance; he lay down, very carefully, on the top of the comforter, almost a foot away.

Jim was having none of it, and as soon as Spock lay parallel to him, Jim wrapped his arms around his waist and squeezed until Spock had difficulty breathing. Had he been human, the force probably would have injured him, and Jim was shaking so very, very hard.

“Don’t leave.”

Spock stiffened.

“I have to. My schooling begins in two weeks, and I must journey to Paradith for supplies beforehand.”

Jim’s grip tightened impossibly, and Spock considered nerve pinching him, very briefly. Instead, he patted his head awkwardly.

“It will be alright, Jim.”

Jim shook his head, mutely, and spoke, almost to himself.

“Don’t leave. Don’t leave. Don’t leave, don’t leave, don’t leave.”

Spock wondered if it was human that he had difficulty breathing then for an entirely different reason, his throat seemingly blocked by the sight of this shaking boy who had been his best friend years ago.

“I won’t.” It was only the second lie Spock had ever spoken, but this time, it had the desired effects; Jim immediately relaxed, both his grip and his tense form, and he patted Spock low on his back, almost affectionately.

“Okay.” It was a bare breath and Spock shivered, uncomfortable, until Jim fell asleep, still locked around him.

As soon as he was sleeping soundly, Spock disentangled himself, packed his belongings, and quietly slipped out the door.


	10. 1.9

To Amanda, the next few years were a painful echo of every mistake she had made in her adult life, and every choice she had never fought. Although she had tried to be a good mother and a good person, the truth was that she was only human, and susceptible to every flaw that her race was criticized for. Perhaps not as many flaws as Vulcans believed, but nevertheless, perfection was beyond her reach, and all because of one impossible flaw.

She wanted to be loved. Perhaps that was the beginning of it all, but after Sarek, she had thought it was good, was right, for her to isolate herself as Vulcans so often did when their hearts were broken. In some small way, she had thought it better for herself and her baby that she stay single, and when that opinion changed, it had brought a whole host of other difficulties beyond what she had anticipated.

Sepek loved her. It was not Vulcan to do so, but he defied the expectation as Sarek had before him, and Amanda had thought, perhaps foolishly, that it would be the same as her first marriage. Spock would have a father again, and they would be welcomed on Vulcan. The influence of a powerful ambassador would allow them to regain custody of Jim once again, and they could be a family, happy as before. It would be different, but not much…and they would be happy.

To say that things did not work out the way she imagined would have been unnecessary, but there were certain things that needed to be mentioned, the first being that Spock did not consider Sepek a father, that there was mutual distaste between them that could not be quelled. It was a fact that became readily apparent two weeks after their marriage, shortly before Spock was to attend the VJSA…and it remained apparent ever since. Sepek would welcome Amanda’s son into his home as a guest, but Spock was not Sepek’s son; although Sepek never stated the basis for his dislike of her only child, Amanda knew it was there, and it pained her.

She’d asked him, once, if it was because Spock was half-human, if it was because of old prejudices. They had been eating breakfast in the living room as they so often did when there was no need for formality, and she had asked, quietly, if Sepek found himself disapproving of humans so much that he would bar her son from his life.

His answer surprised her.

“Amanda,” he began, his voice plain as he set his spoon to rest in his bowl with a clank, “I would be foolish if I disapproved of humans, as I am an ambassador with a human woman at his side. However, I would also be untruthful were I to say that Spock did not trouble me.”

“Trouble you? Sepek.” She rose to rest a hand on his shoulder. “Spock is very well-behaved, you know this.” It was a discussion she had had time and time again, although never with her husband.

“Yes. However, he is the son of Sarek and a human woman.”

She flinched, and she lifted her touch away, her hand like a dead weight.

“So, it is because I’m his mother.”

Sepek shook his head, and grasped her fingertips.

“No. It is because Sarek was his father.” Amanda didn’t understand, and so Sepek spoke simply, certainly condensing the complicated process into human terms. “Vulcans have traditions for their children, traditions that are considered when they are very young. There is a mind-touch between adult and child, and without it, familial bonds do not form. Spock is much too old to become my son.”

Although she was certain the explanation sounded perfectly logical to Sepek, she still had to swallow against the burn in her throat.

“He wants to please you. I know he does.” Spock may not have cared for Sepek beyond knowing that he was his mother’s husband, but Spock needed acceptance from someone, needed it like air, and Amanda was not so sheltered that she thought her undying love was enough.

Spock, quite frankly, needed a father he would never get.

“Then he would do this best by accepting the match that T’Pau chose for him.” The matter was dismissed easily from their conversation, but it lingered on Amanda’s mind, and so lingered on Sepek’s by proxy. She couldn’t help it, thinking of her lonely son, always her baby no matter how much he grew, and knowing that the only acceptance he had ever known was light-years away.

And she could do nothing, absolutely nothing…because Jim was not her child any longer. That young boy, lost in his own right and so scared, had been to Spock what Sybok should have been, a brother, a companion. A friend. She had watched them grow and watched them play, watched them become as close as two people could be, and she knew—with all the instincts of a mother—that Spock needed Jim, and not a marriage.

But it was not just that. Amanda knew that Jim needed Spock just as much, that Jim needed  _them_. When she let herself miss that blond-haired bundle of nerves and mischief, she remembered all those memories that were theirs alone. Jim’s first loose tooth. Jim’s first fist fight. Jim’s first imaginary friend. Jim’s first crush. Jim’s love. He had been her son every bit as much as Spock had been, moreso even during those long school months, and every smile, every action was cherished. When the memories became too strong and she cried, Sepek comforted her as he had since the beginning, as much as he understood how.

And it was around this time that she realized, as much as Jim and Spock needed each other, she needed them both as well. But Spock was angry and Jim was lost beyond even Sepek’s reach…and there was no going back to their happy childhood.

As much as Amanda wished she could hold them to her forever, life forged on.


	11. 2.1

2255   


There were many events that defined Jim’s later teen years and his entry into full-out adulthood, but none of them compared to the first year he found himself in that seedy little bar in Riverside. Contrary to popular belief, this did not happen when he was twenty-one, but rather when Tiffany Larsen turned twenty-two, and the bartenders had gotten used to her. Now, this wasn’t a big deal—Jim was nineteen at the time, and a few years didn’t make much difference, not to him—and it certainly wasn’t as blatantly illegal as the quick handjob he’d gotten underneath the table, nor as rewarding as the first alcohol he’d tasted when he was fourteen (bourbon, since people tended to ask.) No, what made this experience special was that it set up a pattern, a routine, a lifestyle, that Jim hadn’t been able to find since he’d been emancipated at sixteen.

Even after years of watching alcohol rule Frank’s life and ruin Jim’s own, Jim still found himself spending every night at the bar.

He made better choices overall, of course. Jim was mainly looking for sex and he mainly found it, unlike his first stepfather, who had set out to get drunk with regularity. Jim himself actually got drunk very rarely—only on his birthday, as it happened—and so instead he and his one or two drinks learned everything there was to know about the men, women, and other genders who passed through the Shipyard Bar on their way to bigger and better things that Jim himself would never see…all in the name of picking them up, of course.

It was easy enough, as there were only a few types per species, and the patterns were simple to memorize for someone with a genius-level IQ. For humans in particular—because despite everything, this was still the most common species of the bar’s patrons—they could usually be broken up into male and female, and then further broken up into tourists, natives, or cadets. The tourists were Jim’s favorite; usually not looking for anything lasting or a reason to stay, usually easy, and depending on individual personality types, they were most likely to be won over by a drink and asshole lines, a smile and a blush, or complete disregard and disinterest. The natives were a little harder, if only because a lot of them knew Jim at this point, and that was a point against him—chances are, he’d snuck out with their daughters or sisters, fooled around with their cousins or brothers, pounded their twin into a mattress. Jim didn’t bother with natives so much anymore as a result, ‘cause it usually just made him look bad…and then there were the cadets.

If there was anything Jim hated in that bar, it was cadets. Not that they couldn’t be fun—he’d met a couple, even, who thought he was worth a roll even if they also thought he was as dumb as a sheep—but for the most part, they invaded every bar near the shipyard twice a year when Starfleet Academy started picking up fresh meat. Every March and October they came, and they just made for a difficult time, because competition suddenly became stiff, almost as stiff as the types who normally became cadets. Jim usually stayed out of the bar when there was a sudden influx…but the problem with being Jim Kirk was that staying away from a bar on his birthday was impossible, and drinking alone meant he’d probably die of alcohol poisoning, and he didn’t really want that.

So the March Jim turned 22, he was at the Shipyard Bar drinking the manliest of all drinks (Jack Daniels, and lots of it) when Cadet Uhura walked in. She was a looker, to be sure—pretty as anyone he had ever seen—but she also looked uptight and unhappy, and in need of a good laugh and a good lay. Jim, fortunately, was willing to provide both, and he got a laugh for his troubles—reluctant and faintly electric sounding, as if she had fused with the communications equipment she no doubt used so much. He also got a fist fight for his troubles, but that was neither here nor there—he’d seen far worse the last time ( _the very last time_ ) he’d messed with a married woman.

The really bad part came when their higher-ranked ring leader showed up and—through no fault of Jim’s own—convinced him that joining Starfleet Academy was a dynamite idea.

And that, Jim decided, was the last time he got drunk on his birthday.

********

Jim’s first week at Starfleet Academy earned him two things: a reliable, stable, almost  _parental_  presence in the form of the young Southern doctor Jim had helpfully nicknamed “Bones” who had  _helpfully_  volunteered to be his roommate, and a reputation as a trouble maker that was neither deserved nor even worth acquiring. He hadn’t meant to break into the dorms; he’d forgotten his key code. He hadn’t meant to miss his first day of classes; he’d gotten caught up in one of the science labs, because despite years of trying to convince himself that it didn’t matter any longer, he still held a pretty strong interest in every science he’d been exposed to as a child. He hadn’t meant to cause a fight between one of the few married couples enrolled; he’d honestly thought she was single. On and on it went, and Jim, who had actually wanted to give the whole good-student, good-person thing a shot, wondered if he was just cursed.

And that, actually, brought him to the third thing he gained at Starfleet Academy: a friend almost as self-destructive as he was.

It had started in Tactics, primarily because it was a required course for second-years and Pike had shoe-horned him into it, saying that if he was going to attempt to do it in three years and not four, he’d better man-up. Jim had enjoyed the pressure in a pathetic way, but that was before he’d ended up in the class that was  _boring as all hell._  The only bright spot had been the fact that at the end of the first day he’d shown up, the guy behind him had kicked his chair and asked, smirking like an ass, “Wanna fool around?” Because Jim was an adventurous guy and Chair Guy was of the tall, dark, and handsome sort, Jim had said ‘yes.’

It was only after he’d ditched Intro to Personnel Relationships to get felt up in a bathroom stall that the guy introduced himself as Gary Mitchell, a second year, and he gave Jim the best head he’d had in years before completely beating dust. The lack of emotional attachment as well as their obvious similarities meant that they became fast friends, and before the second week was out, Bones was already sick of seeing Gary in their room.

“Dammit, kid! What the hell happened to you that you haven’t formed a  _single_   _healthy_   _relationship_  at this place?” Bones asked, loudly, into their dorm room after walking in on Gary and Jim having a friendly fist fight, laughing all the way, and after Bones had successfully kicked Gary the hell out.

“Lots, Bones. Tons.” Jim didn’t go into details, primarily because he noticed Bones didn’t consider his own company any more “healthy” than Gary’s. No need to add to the man’s guilt.

“Yeah, well, make sure you don’t end up with more to add to it, alright?” Bones murmured out, a kind but vague warning, before burying himself in the reading for his all-medical requisite alien biology course. It was the last they spoke about it, because Bones wasn’t anyone who gave a hoot what Jim did, not beyond the barest of interests.

Of course, Gary cared even less, but that was the thing;  _his_  lack of caring was comfortable and familiar.

“The thing is,” Gary said, balancing an unlit match on one fingertip, “people don’t like nice guys. What do you get for being a nice guy? You get people wondering why you’re being nice. You get people wondering if there’s something wrong with you. You get people walking all over you. Seriously, who wins in this situation?”

“Not the nice guy,” Jim supplied, because what the hell—nice had never worked for him either. Even if he thought Gary was full of crap most of the time, he was still smart, smart enough to get into the Academy (this was helped by the fact that Gary had been born with a silver spoon up his ass, though.)

And Gary nodded and smiled and offered to take him to a party full of glamorous, fun-loving people, and even though Jim knew he shouldn’t be screwing it up, especially not so early in the game, he went.

After all, he thought, it’s not like he had anything that important left to lose.

********

Gary disappeared almost as soon as they were inside the crowded apartment, but Jim was used to being on his own, and he had the social skills to survive. He didn’t introduce himself to anyone, not really—this wasn’t the sort of party where names were required—nor did he drink, try any of the new untraceable drugs floating around, nor accept any of the offers of flesh that were made. He just wasn’t feeling it that night, and so rather than attempt what appeared to be a useless game at the moment, Jim just sat outside on the damp patio chair and enjoyed the air as he waited for the stars to come out.

Of course, just because he had abstained from drinking that night didn’t mean anyone else had, and it wasn’t ten minutes of peace before he heard giggling on the walkway below, and un-moderated tones.

“SSSHHH! You’ll wake the entire house, Ou-Ling!”

Jim sighed, and wanted to shout down that they already had. When he’d become such a buzzkill, he did not know, but thankfully, the fact that the partygoers were Monaltians—nine feet tall if they were an inch—kept him from speaking his mind.

“It’s not MY fault! It’s that damn iceberg, that tightass, that perfectionist! He gave me a B, Koodo—a B!”

Jim snorted. He’d never gotten perfect grades himself, but he’d learned the information and then bitched with the rest of his classmates to fit in; it was amusing to see the same situation reflected in someone who sounded like one of those straight A types. No doubt they were spitting fluorescent green spit everywhere as Monaltians did, and no doubt they wanted to pound this brave teacher of theirs into the ground, sexually or not (it was hard to tell).

But just when Jim was about to dismiss them entirely, certain they had nothing to interest him, Koodo attempted to comfort their disgruntled friend.

“Aw, calm down Ou-Ling; you know Professor Spock. You’re lucky if you get a passing grade, and a B from him is nothing to sneeze at.”

_Professor Spock!?_

Jim jumped up, and cupped his hands around his mouth.

“Hey!  _HEY_!”

They were already out of range, unfortunately—Monaltians didn’t have quite the same hearing range that humans did, but Jim didn’t waste time caring about it. Instead, he stormed back into the party, pushing the quietly milling drunks out of the way, looking for Gary. He found him almost comatose in the bathroom, and had no regrets at slapping him awake.

“ _Jesus_!” Gary lashed out with a right hook that caught Jim in the jaw, but it was weak. “Can’t a man sleep?”

“Gary. Is there a Vulcan instructor at the academy?”

“Who gives a  _shit_ —”

“ _Is there a Vulcan instructor at the academy_?”

“Yes! God, my head hurts.” Jim was entirely unsympathetic , and Gary sighed before rubbing his eyes furiously. “Alright,  _alright_. I’ll take you to see him tomorrow, if you like—he teaches some technical class on computer maintenance or something. Why the sudden interest?”

Jim kept his silence.

“No reason.” He waited, but when Gary made no motion to push himself off the toilet seat, Jim leaned over and hoisted him to his feet. “Come on, Gary—let’s see if we can get you to fall asleep somewhere that isn’t a bathroom, okay?”

********

Rationally, Jim knew “Professor Spock” couldn’t be the Vulcan he knew.  _His_  Spock had had dreams, had been going to some fancy pre-college so he could get into the VSA, had been following a normal Vulcan path that didn’t include Earth or stupid fourteen year old boys who held on too hard. If Jim had to guess where  _his_  Spock was now, it was on Vulcan, probably hip deep in science and marriage, possibly even with perfectly responsible kids with perfectly groomed hair who never, ever felt abandoned. At least, that was what Jim  _hoped_ ; it made the memory of being  _left_  somehow easier to bear if he thought Spock had been going towards that perfect life that Jim couldn’t be a part of.

So rationally, Jim knew that Professor Spock was someone else, a different Vulcan with similar talents and the same name…but he still needed to see. And bullying Gary into showing him to one of the more advanced classes and interrupting what would have otherwise been a day of nursing his hangover (the medical community didn’t share their hangover remedies with just anyone, after all) was just a wonderful bonus.

It was Friday afternoon when Gary finally hauled his lazy ass out of bed to show Jim around the science area of the academy, a tour that was frankly hilarious when combined with the fact that Gary wasn’t a scientist and he was hungover, and Jim knew the area better than he did. Still, he needed Gary for one very important thing, and that was to make sure that Jim didn’t have an utterly stupid reaction upon seeing the academy’s Vulcan professor for the first time. Gary, willingly enough, led Jim to the far right of the circular wing of science, and dragged him into the last few minutes of a class. They ducked low behind the last row of seats, waiting, and when the students began to rise from their chairs, their class over, Jim popped his head out, scanning the front of the room.

The milling crowd below contained a Vulcan as he had expected, but as soon as Jim saw him, he knew it couldn’t be  _his_ Spock. The Spock Jim had known had been geeky and lanky, all bones and awkward movements and height that didn’t suit him, and he had been…

 _A quiet comfort, a dear friend, as warm as summer, as cherished as any memory_ …

…well, he had been Spock. He had been many things, but even looking back through the blur of years gone by, he had never been gorgeous, and Jim could admit that he might have even been on the weird side of average.

 _This_  Spock wasn’t average, but well-built and toned, long and sleek and the meaning of “sexy alien” even though he wore an instructor’s uniform. His hair was sleek and his skin was smooth and unblemished, hands folded loosely behind his back and body straight, and as confident with his place at the academy as Jim’s old friend had never quite seemed on Earth. The Spock in front of him was worlds different from Jim’s memories…but the face was the same, minus the off-colored blotches of skin Jim remembered from his friend’s teen years. So it  _was_  Spock—an  _adult_  Spock. A gorgeous Spock.

But since it was Spock, that begged the question: what  _the hell_  was he doing here?

“Quite a looker, huh?” Gary chimed in from beside him, and Jim turned to see him looking contemplative. Jim had forgotten he was there. “He’s more of a tight ass than any instructor at the academy, though…although, that doesn’t have to be a bad thing, if you know what I mean.”

Jim shot Gary an annoyed look, and Gary chuckled in response, the sound grating Jim’s nerves.

“Are you happy now? Can I go back to my room, or do you want to go ogle the Andorian professor?”

Jim didn’t respond, not immediately. He kept glancing from Spock’s back to Gary’s smug face, and the idea sprung out of nowhere.

“I’ll bet you I can get him to go to dinner with me.”  _So much for not doing anything stupid…_

Gary didn’t respond for a moment, and then he burst out laughing. They were forced to duck down low behind the last row of seats to avoid detection by the science cadets, and by the time they were safely hidden, Gary’s laughter had died down to heaving breaths.

“Think I can’t do it?” Jim asked, voice deliberately challenging. Gary wiped tears from his eyes.

“Jim, you’re attractive, I’m not going to lie. But if I had a credit for every cadet who thought  _they_  would be the one to convince  _Lieutenant Commander Spock_  that an affair with a cadet was a great idea, I’d have enough money to buy myself into the admiralty.”

Jim smirked.

“Scared, Gary?”

Gary wasn’t as smart as he thought, and therefore easy to manipulate; he was scowling at the perceived blow to his reputation by the time Jim had finished speaking.

“No. Just trying to save you from the inevitable humiliation. How much do you want?”

“Not money.” Jim didn’t have enough to spare and Gary had too much for it to mean anything, after all. “But if I win, you’re totally getting me a ticket to that fancy do-up for the launch of the first Warp 9 ship.”

He probably could have just asked and Gary would have been willing to give him an invitation, but that was the problem with Gary—he was unreliable as hell, and would have forgotten unless there was pride at stake. As it was, Gary shrugged like he didn’t understand why Jim was interested in something so incredibly dull, and that was just the way Jim wanted it.

“Deal. And  _when_  I win, you put in a good word for me with that sweet little nurse who hangs out with your roommate.”

“Nurse Chapel?” Jim asked, just to check, and Gary smirked some more.

“That’s the one.”

Jim almost scowled again, knowing that the only reason Gary was so caught up with Chapel was the fact that Bones had a  _thing_  for her, and Gary hated Bones.

“Alright, it’s a bet.” And Jim would win, so there was really no harm in it. However, when Jim straightened his shirt as a perquisite to standing and Gary hadn’t made any move to leave, he knew there was one definite way he could blow it. He pushed Gary hard in the chest. “Go away—you’ll cramp my style.”

Gary looked confused, but only for a moment before he scurried away. What he must have thought of as his impending victory definitely held priority over any joy he might get out of seeing Jim be horribly shot down.

“You’re gonna lose!” Gary singsonged just before he left the auditorium, and Jim just shook his head, amused. Gary was ridiculous in his arrogance sometimes, and that element of the absurd was really his best quality.

Still, even if Jim knew he was wrong—and he  _was_ —it took a minute for him to work up the courage to stand, and risk being spotted. He hadn’t seen Spock for nearly eight years, hadn’t heard a peep from him, and while there was no risk that he wouldn’t remember Jim—Vulcans had that near-perfect memory, after all—there was a risk that whatever Jim had done,  _had been_ , to make Spock up and abandon him would still cloud their interactions even now. And that wasn’t even accounting for the fact that Jim was still angry over the entire thing.

But eventually he did stand, moving confidently down the spiraled stairs until he was directly behind a Spock who was very intently explaining the intricacies of Romulan technology to a star-struck cadet. There was a line of students also eager to hear Spock’s deep baritone, but Jim didn’t stand in it.

“Hello, Spock.” The informality of the address got his attention, and Spock turned.

“Cadet,” he responded, expression cool and without recognition. For one heart-stopping moment, Jim thought Spock _didn’t_  remember him after all, and then Spock began to blink rapidly. Recognition hit as Jim crossed his arms and smiled. “Jim? Jim Kirk?”

Jim grinned. He was a little surprised at how easily the expression came.

“Like I said. Hello, Spock.”

The other cadets were clearly confused, and more so when Spock turned and dismissed them, even the one he’d been speaking to. Jim didn’t miss the jealous looks that were shot at him as they trailed out in well-trained single file, and he wondered if Spock was still as oblivious to the affections of those around him as he’d ever been. To  _Jim’s_ affections, even.

However, any anger Jim felt at the thought died at the open welcome on Spock’s face.

“Jim. I was unaware that you planned to attend Starfleet Academy.”

Jim shrugged like it was no big deal, and barely resisted the urge to say  _And I didn’t know you planned to be here for years without ever even checking to see if I was still alive._

Instead, he grinned and let out a noncommittal “Plans change,” and waited. Spock didn’t volunteer anything, instead looking Jim up and down.

“You are taller,” he said simply, and Jim rubbed at the back of his head.

“Yeah. Well, I was fourteen when you saw me last.” Jim didn’t let the pause linger, afraid there was resentment in the statement that would only become more obvious in the following silence. So instead, he smiled, and touched Spock lightly on the arm. “Hey, Spock, do you wanna catch up? Like over dinner?”

Spock frowned down at the sure touch on his uniform, and hesitated.

“Strictly speaking, it is frowned upon for instructors to associate with cadets outside of academy functions.”

“Come on, Spock—just one little dinner,” Jim coaxed, and he could see Spock falter. “It’s San Francisco—I bet they have some kickass ice cream.”

Spock caved; Jim wondered if he’d even  _had_  ice cream since the excuse of humoring his illogical human acquaintances had disappeared.

“Very well. Shall we plan on eight o’clock this evening?”

Jim beamed, and he high-fived himself mentally while he carefully removed his hand from the well-muscled arm wrapped in black.

“Yeah. Where am I meeting you?”

“ _La’Ouu’Ten_. It is a restaurant I frequent on the north side of this city. Please dress nicely.”

“No problem.” Jim didn’t own anything considered “nice” by the civilized world, but whatever—he could borrow Bones’ suit.

Spock nodded and turned to gather up the remainder of his supplies from his class. Jim suspected Spock expected him to linger, perhaps to entertain him with the more family-appropriate tales of his teen years, as friends did.

Jim didn’t even say goodbye; he simply slipped out of the auditorium the way he had come. He wasn’t surprised to see Gary propped against the wall nearby, but Jim just walked past him, and Gary followed.

“You owe me a ticket, Gary.” Gary started to protest, and Jim whirled. “ _La’Ouu’Ten_ , eight o’clock.”

The gape on Gary’s face was almost worth as much as the ticket.


	12. 2.2

As much as it would have appalled him to admit it, Spock had imagined how he would react to seeing Jim Kirk again a frankly shameful number of times. It was even something that he had considered part of his daily routine while at the VJSA—mediate, attend classes, do research, think of Jim, sleep. At the time, he had considered it only natural with the way they had parted, best friends who never spoke again after that last night in rainy Iowa, and he had imagined time and again how it could have changed. If he had only stayed, despite the legal ramifications. If Jim had only followed, despite his fear. If they had only agreed on their separation, rather than leaving it unsaid. It was something that was unsettling in its lack of finality, and Spock had considered this the driving force for his mental conflict of the past years.

Upon actually seeing Jim, however, Spock was forced to contend that perhaps he had been foolish to assume there was a logical, non-emotional reason for his thoughts to linger on that boy he had known years ago, even now.

Jim looked well, there was no denying that. He had grown the inches promised him in his youth, and he now nearly matched Spock in height and exceeded him in breadth, pounds of muscle piled upon a sturdy frame. Spock had not expected him to be handsome, and he noted the change absently, but other than that, Jim was much as he had expected him to be when he thought of him: taller, larger, and fierce.

He was also sad and angry and, upon a second glance, so very handsome in a way that was not as detached from Spock’s observation as he would have liked, and Spock found a reaction that he did not like, not at all. He had convinced himself that it was a mismemory from his youth, this pounding of his heart…but he could see now, as an adult to an adult, that this was not the case.

It alarmed him, perhaps more than the knowledge that Spock was now a professor and Jim a cadet. As a child, such a reaction would have been acceptable; after all, children did not know their own bodies or their emotions or minds regardless of the training, and Spock had been a child until very recently. As an adult, however, Spock was certain his reaction was the opposite of accepted; forbidden, in fact.

But he was not entirely certain, because it had never happened before.

Spock pondered this as he moved from his classroom to the office he shared with his senior co-worker, Professor Pentenda Salura. He had never become lost in thought, but he admitted that the experience was close, and it took him almost a full second to realize that Pentenda was actually present, seated at her desk and with her long eyestalks focused on the mountain of papers in front of her. Spock empathized, and he nodded to her in greeting.

“Pentenda.”

She jumped.

“Spock!” The exclamation was startled, perhaps more startled than it should have been, and Spock watched her hurriedly shuffle an envelope underneath the stack of essays she illogically asked for in hardcopy form. He sighed, a painfully human habit that he allowed in the company of few.

“Pentenda, what is the matter?”

“Nothing, Spock,” she chirped, the denial sounding soft and musical from her lips. Spock flinched, however, at the underlying and mostly unheard tone of a Nazaradian voice attempting to solicit cooperation, and it was with a minute frown that he walked over to his desk and set his supplies on the clean surface.

“Pentenda, need I remind you that Vulcans are unaffected by Nazaradian hypnotism? That we in fact find the sound painful?”

“Sorry, Spock. Old habits.” The piercing note was thankfully gone, and Spock turned to see her tapping the now-exposed envelope on the surface of her desk. She did not need to say what it was, as he suspected, and he turned back to his work.

“No, Pentenda.”

“I haven’t even asked you yet!” She sputtered, disbelieving, and Spock just barely refrained from a smile.

“Pentenda, I have no need to attend a party.”

“Spock, you were on the finalizing crew for the science labs! The science station! Surely you want to see the launch.”

Spock would never understand that emotional connection that other beings seemed to have to objects, or so he told himself. The fact that there was one notable exception to this was ignored, of course, as it was irrelevant besides.

“I do not. It is not something I would find gratifying, much less something I would feel comfortable going to with a guest. Why can you not ask Minerva?”

Upon the mention of the young scientist she had been seeing in recent months, Pentenda deflated.

“She went back to her husband. I think she’s confused, or something. Please, Spock—just this once?”

Spock shook his head, unyielding.

“I must decline.”

Pentenda sighed, and then, true to form, she grinned wildly. It was just the Nazaradian way.

“Well, hell. And here I was hoping this young thing on my arm would make all the girls jealous.”

“Pentenda, I am less than two weeks younger than you.”

She made a tsking noise and slipped the envelope containing the invitation back into her pile of papers, carefully unopened. Spock took it as a promise that the matter was not completely dismissed, and he carefully ignored the matching invitation on his desk, intending to slip it back among her things when she was attending to her classes.

At the moment, he had other matters to attend to, and unfortunately, they were slightly more illegal than a professor dining with a cadet.

********

Spock spent many hours on the computer that afternoon; this was not unusual, as he was the foremost expert in computer science at the academy, but it was rare in the fact that he spent the majority of the time attempting to access classified files. It was not the wisest career decision, of that much he was certain, but it was long overdue, something he should have done before ever joining the VJSA.

 _Subject: James Tiberius Kirk. Age: 22. Birthplace: Federation space_. There were several other details about Jim that he knew and several he didn’t, but for the most part, they were minor. Spock went deeper.

 _Subject: Winona Kirk. Age: 52. Birthplace: Spokane, Washington. Dismissed from the Federation Starfleet for conduct unbefitting an officer. Reinstated. Currently active._  The history of Winona Kirk was also vague, but it was clear enough for someone who was looking for it. Spock had heard of very few causes that warranted complete dismissal from Starfleet, and the one of the most common was an emotional instability that caused a failure of duty, second only to negligence. Spock was certain there must have been a reason for Miss Kirk’s dismissal beyond that, but for the moment, it was enough.

Spock had been best friends with Jim for over a decade, and he had never known. Perhaps it was because he had never asked, because he had simply assumed that whatever Winona’s flaws, she loved her sons, albeit with the love of someone unused to motherhood. Perhaps he had been wrong. Perhaps Frank had not been the problem; this theory certainly seemed confirmed when compared with the other technical details, such as Jim being declared an adult at the tender age of sixteen. A new husband, one Joseph Martin…and yet it seemed to have done nothing for them. Perhaps Winona simply hadn’t loved them enough.

Spock knew most of this was only theory, of course. He felt uncomfortable delving much further into Jim’s records, especially in light of the fact that they had not spoken for so long, and so he did not reach into medical records, the true tale of a person’s state. He knew what he would see for Jim: a long list of broken bones, bruises, and unexplained scars. For Winona, he suspected medication…but he did not confirm it. After years of leaving Jim alone, it was not his right to know.

 _Jim, I am sorry._  It didn’t seem like enough, and although Spock closed the files rapidly, he still felt like an intruder. At the very least, he did not deserve to call himself Jim’s friend. He had had his reasons for fleeing Earth like a bandit in the night…but he had not thought about the consequences. And although he had attempted to contact Jim many times after that last encounter, his comm calls had all been fielded by an annoyed Winona Kirk or ignored entirely. After Jim had been declared an adult…he had not imagined that his friendship or his companionship were needed any longer. He had erred, quite severely, and he had not known. Such a lapse was not Vulcan, nor was it human.

It was simply ignorant.

********

Spock was thankfully able to meditate that afternoon, and in doing so, his guilt was easily suppressed. He suspected that a human would have much to say on the subject of repression of such an emotion, but then, he had become accustomed to the tendency of human kind to obsess over matters that were not their own. As a Vulcan, even one who had his failings, Spock was much more concerned with facts, and the facts were unalterable. The most important facts were even a comfort.

Jim Kirk was alive and well. He was attending Starfleet Academy as a young adult and recently-enrolled cadet, and Spock was a professor at Starfleet Academy, having dinner with an old friend. Although the years had passed, Jim must not have resented him for his absence, as he had sought him out. This was also a comfort.

The facts had not changed.


	13. 2.3

Bones did not allow Jim to borrow his suit because he was a smart man, and the words “I’m going to dinner with Professor Spock” spelled trouble, even knowing their history. Jim didn’t blame him, since the entire thing had the stink of Gary all over it and Jim didn’t look happy, but eventually he did talk Bones out of one of his nicer shirts. Jim wore his nicest jeans, too, and he hoped the discrepancy of the entire thing would make him easier to spot, and would keep the evening short.

Truth be told, Jim didn’t particularly want to catch up. Now that he’d seen Spock—seen how healthy he was, how content—he could guess how the years had gone by, and he didn’t think he needed a perfect Vulcan life detailed to him. If anything, he almost…resented their dinner plans, because Spock had  _abandoned him_  in his time of need, and Jim would have been content never to see him again, ever. He would have stood him up, in fact, except Spock would probably miss the implications and then Jim would be on the hook for fixing Gary up with Bones’ girl.

All in all, it was a rotten place to be in, and when Jim arrived at  _La’Ouu’Ten_  by way of bus, he knew he looked like he was going to a funeral despite the shimmering blue of his shirt and the sleek look of his boots. Oh well—he supposed he could just drink his weight in alcohol and slobber all over whatever nice outfit Spock had chosen to wear, and consider the entire evening a payment for his future  _without_  Spock in it.

Jim had a smile pasted on his face by the time the maitre d’ had judged his outfit and led him to a quiet table off to the far side, thankfully by the windows. Spock was sitting, reading a datapad that probably had something official and important on it, dressed in black that didn’t look too different from anything Jim had ever seen him in. Once Jim had taken his seat—and God, even the  _chairs_  felt expensive—Spock had closed the device and set it aside.

And when Spock looked up, he looked so  _happy_  to see him that Jim felt like he’d been punched in the gut, and he immediately looked at the tablecloth.

“Good evening, Jim. I trust you did not have difficulty locating this restaurant?”

Jim shrugged and sipped the water he had been provided, switching his gaze from white cotton to the condensation that now adorned his fingertips.

“Na, I took the bus. Kind of hard to miss, though, when it’s shaped like a Romulan clam. Whose idea was that, anyway?”

Spock answered as he always did, with his voice perfectly moderated.

“The building was constructed relatively recently, and I imagine they were attempting to garner publicity through shock value. It appears to have worked.”

Jim nodded absently, using the excuse of the waiter coming to take their drink order as a reason to stay silent. However, once the man had gone to fetch Spock’s Altarian juice and Jim’s Dr. Pepper (he’d just changed his mind about drinking,  _alright_?), Jim immediately lifted the menu as a barrier between them.

“What’s good?”

Long fingers touched the top of the leatherbound menu in Jim’s hands for an instant before slowly lowering it. Spock’s gaze was intent.

“Jim. Are you alright?”

Jim looked back at the pages that were now resting on the table.

“What kind of question is that? I’m here, aren’t I?”

“You are. However, you are also avoiding looking at me, and I am forced to wonder why.”

Jim looked at him deliberately then, annoyed by how easily Spock could sense his mood.

“I’m fine.”

“You are not experiencing difficulties at the academy? Or family problems?”

Jim snorted, unable to help himself.

“Hell of a time to start caring about  _that_.”

The waiter returned before Spock could do much more than look mildly shocked, and Jim ordered the messiest ribeye he could find. Spock ordered something that Jim remembered as vegetables in a white sauce, but Spock didn’t appear to care enough to confirm the order as he used to, as he was too focused on Jim. Jim, a little uncomfortable, sipped his drink.

“Jim, I have always been interested in your home life. However, I was under the impression that my interest was no longer desirable.”

Jim couldn’t believe it.

“Spock,  _I begged you not to go_.” Jim’s voice was almost shrill, and definitely angry. Definitely loud.

_So much for staying cool about this._

Spock shifted, but it was not from discomfort; he appeared to be resisting the urge to lean forward.

“Jim, I was not a Terran citizen, and my window of time was near its end. Furthermore, my attempts to contact you after the completion of my preliminary studies were unfruitful. I had assumed you had found the family you desired.”

Jim shook his head, deflating sadly. Of course, he knew all of these things in the abstract, but somehow he had thought Spock would find a way if he really cared…and he hadn’t.

“No. I was emancipated at sixteen. I didn’t leave them my forwarding address, so anything you sent me probably got lost.”

“I see.” Their order arrived as the silence dragged on. It was cooked to perfection, but Jim wasn’t very hungry, and he poked absently at the fragrant steak. Spock simply sighed. “You are still angry at me. I am curious as to why you initiated our interactions tonight if you bear me ill will.”

Jim winced.

“I don’t ‘bear you ill will.’” He paused, and corrected himself. “I just considered standing you up.”

Spock looked contemplative; apparently, he  _did_  understand the implications of that.

“I see. May I ask why you changed your mind?”

Stubbornness. And maybe that mean part of him that desperately wanted Spock’s no doubt perfect reputation to be just a little bit dulled by their meeting.

“Maybe I just wanted to hear about how perfect your life was without me in it.” The words were more bitter than he had planned, and Jim dug into his meal in an attempt to disguise it.

As such, he missed the sight of understanding dawning on Spock’s face.

“I was admitted to the Vulcan Science Academy. However, there was some…dispute about the value of my parentage and acquaintances, and I refused the honor quite forcefully.” The words were quiet and punctuated by the sound of Spock biting into a steamed carrot—purple—and Jim looked up.

“Yeah?”

“Yes. I may have also informed my stepfather that although my mother—his wife—is human, it was better than the  _le-matya_  that bore him.”

Jim snorted, surprised but aware that Spock didn’t lie usually, wouldn’t even think to lie about something so simple.

“And after that?”

“I was disinherited from all but a small allowance. My father’s estate could fall only to a child that obeyed his wishes, and he wished for me to follow his academic path—I believe Sybok is currently managing Sarek’s estate.” Spock paused long enough to allow Jim to absorb that, and long enough to dab at his mouth with a soft napkin. “I came to Earth, destitute. My mother wished to aid me, but I was quite resistant to accepting any help from the house of Sepek, no matter its source. Instead, I contacted Aunt Doris for a loan of sorts, just enough to cover the bare expenses of life in San Francisco while I applied for citizenship and attended the Academy.” Spock looked away for an instant, off to the side of the table, and then his eyes snapped back. “She informed me that she would be very offended if I paid her back.”

 _Good old Aunt Doris._  Jim had never met her personally, but she had a name that sounded old-fashioned and loving, and Spock had spoken of her affections for him more than once, when their parents were driving them both crazy.

“And how was the Academy?”

“I was the only Vulcan in attendance for my first two years, and my last saw me competing with an admiral’s son for the highest score and best ship assignment. He was not pleased when I bested him at both, and through bias, my ship assignment was replaced with a teaching assignment. I have been teaching advanced computer science for the past two years.”

There were a lot of things Jim wanted to ask. Why hadn’t Spock contested the assignment? Why didn’t he seem particularly bothered by it even now? Jim would have been pissed if he’d been grounded after working so hard...but the questions dimmed, just slightly.

Spock had not had an easy eight years any more than Jim had. Different, certainly…but still not easy.

“Huh. Well, that’s certainly not what I expected.”

“You imagined I had left you for a superior life, perhaps a family. This is not the case, as I cannot imagine a being I would prefer over you.”

The statement was spoken as fact, just like old times. Spock had called him his best friend, and although the abandonment still stung, Jim could see that it hadn’t been through cruelty, but a misunderstanding of culture. A long, unfortunate one.

Jim swallowed.

“God, Spock, I’ve missed you so much.” It was a fundamental truth, and had been since Spock had left years ago. Jim, reverting to old habits, immediately reached out a hand to grasp Spock’s. He was surprised when he encountered only open tablecloth and his own plate. “No hands?”

“The gesture holds some significance to adult Vulcans. It would be considered obscene in public.”

Jim chuckled as he attempted to wipe away the steak sauce from his sleeve.

“Did I just try to grope you?”

Spock looked as amused as he ever did, and he offered his napkin. Jim waved it away—there was no saving the silk now.

“I assure you, I understood your intent. Please understand mine.”

“No cadets groping the professors, got it.” Jim smirked and watched Spock eat in tiny, appropriate bites. “How do they feel about cadets walking professors home?” It was something they had done for many years, both officially and through habit—it was something Jim desperately missed, and he suspected Spock saw that on his face.

“There is no precedence that I am aware of.”

Jim chuckled again, feeling lighter than he had for a good long while despite the heavy weight of steak in his stomach. When the waiter returned to inquire about their meal, Jim was grinning like an idiot, and Spock was doing the Vulcan equivalent around the rim of his glass.

Times like this deserved a celebration.

“Now, how about that ice cream?”

********

The relative cheer Jim had enjoyed while eating the richest ice cream he’d ever tasted and while he had walked Spock back to his fourth floor apartment disappeared almost entirely when confronted the next morning with the first consequence of betting Gary anything. Namely, Gary himself all but busting down his door and tackling him in a rough one-armed hug across his shoulders. He was grinning like a cat that had figured out how to open canned tuna fish, and Jim remembered too late what Gary had no doubt thought about seeing Jim sitting with Spock in a fancy restaurant.

“Jim, you dog. I don’t know how you did it, but I swear, you’re now my new hero.”

Jim sighed and rubbed his eyes, squinting. Thankfully Bones had already left for the day, so Jim didn’t have to deal with Gary waking him up. Unfortunately, Jim still had to deal with it himself, and he shrugged off Gary’s arm.

“Gary—”

Gary held up his hands, still grinning.

“Say no more! Here, I’ve got your ticket for you—” He waved it in front of Jim, glossy and gold, but when Jim reached for it, he tugged it back out of reach.“—and I’ll give it to you if you tell me how he was in the sack.”

Jim scowled, and made another swipe for the shining paper.

“I have no idea, Gary. And I bet you about dinner, not sex.”

Gary, of course, took that in entirely the wrong way, and he flipped the ticket at Jim’s face before whistling.

“No way! You struck out  _after_  getting him to buy you dinner?”

Well, they had split it, technically—Jim had felt bad, after all, and professors weren’t rich. Plus, Spock had totally bought him ice cream…but that wasn’t exactly the point.

“Did it occur to you that maybe I didn’t  _want_  to have sex with him?” A novel idea, Jim knew, but Spock was everything he’d ever wanted in friend-form aside from a few misunderstandings, and the sheer amount of effort Gary made in misinterpreting that was amazing.

Of course, this was largely because Jim wasn’t going to tell Gary the truth, that he already knew Spock and loved him in a completely platonic way.

“Bull. I’ve never seen anyone pant like you did when you saw him yesterday. So, are you gonna try again?”

Jim was a little caught up on the “panting” aspect, but once he got past that, he shook his head.

“I don’t know, maybe.” Just so Gary wouldn’t get any ideas, though, Jim forced a wince. “Those rejections hurt like hell.”

“Tell me about it.” Jim didn’t realize he was scowling at Gary until Gary held up his hands again, this time in defense and with a surprised look on his face.“Hey, this isn’t firsthand knowledge; I have better instincts than that, and he probably talks about computer chips in bed—not my type. Besides that, when did you become a possessive bastard?”

“Never. I mean, I’m not.”  Jim wondered if it was just him, or if the words didn’t sound convincing at all. In any case, this called for a distraction. “Wanna fool around?”

Gary was immediately grinning for an entirely different reason.

“Sure, but if you call me ‘Spock,’ I reserve the right to demand a blow job.”

“I’ll save you the trouble—lose the pants.”

Gary did so eagerly enough, and Jim hit his knees, perfectly willing as he always was. If he was a bit more excited than usual at the sight of black pubic hair and long cock, there was no reason for it, and he put far more effort than usual into making Gary incoherent, hoping to dismiss the topic entirely. It seemed to work, and Jim considered a sore throat—because Gary was  _an ass_ , and Jim didn’t deep throat usually—to be worth it.

Of course, there was still more than one problem associated with Jim’s bet with Gary, and the main one made sure to find him before classes could start on Monday.

“My office. Now,” was the short clipped sentence that greeted him from the familiar face of Captain Pike, and Jim winced even before he was all but herded down the hallway.

The door slammed closed and Jim sat reflexively, a defense already on his lips even if he didn’t understand the problem; he hadn’t done anything bad  _lately_.

“Pike, I swear—”

“Save it.” Jim saved it, closing his mouth with a clap as he watched Pike rub at his forehead. “Jim, what the hell are you doing?”

Jim scowled, because what the hell?

“I’m getting late for class, what are you doing?”

Pike slapped a hand on his desk, accidentally activating his main viewing screen. He shut it off before replying, the words very calm.

“I mean, what are you doing with Lieutenant Commander Spock?”

Jim felt his jaw drop.

“Doing? I’m not  _doing_  anything. We were just catching up. We knew each other as kids, you know.”

Pike continued to scowl, but the expression softened somewhat in light of Jim’s obvious surprise.

“I know. That’s the reason this isn’t a formal inquiry into why you’re blatantly flouting the rules, with you and Spock facing an entire panel of Starfleet officials. This is  _me_  asking  _you_  what the hell you’re doing.”

Jim shrugged.

“It was just dinner.”  _At a nice restaurant. After betting Gary he would go with me_.

“You went to his place afterwards.” Jim stared, and this time it was Pike who shrugged. “I have my sources.”

“I  _walked him home_ , because it’s something we did as kids.” And Jim thought  _he_  was the one who always had sex on the brain. Between this, Gary’s insistence, and Bones’ hard look when Jim returned his shirt, it was a wonder Jim got laid at all with the third-degree he seemed to be getting from something so innocent.

“And it looks really bad to someone who doesn’t know that,” Pike finished unnecessarily, and Jim crossed his arms, annoyed at the confirmation. “Jim, I’m just asking you, and warning you. Spock could lose his position over this, and you? Every grade you get in your classes would become suspect, and every teacher would go under an investigation.”

Jim  _knew_  that…but he’d kind of forgotten, the same way he’d forgotten that running away to a different city when you were fourteen was bad, even if there was a Vulcan waiting for you. For some reason, a lot of Jim’s forgetfulness seemed focused around Spock.

Still, that was no reason to assume. What were they, junior high gossips?

“ _If_  I was doing something with Spock and  _if_  I was stupid enough to  _do it in public_ , you can bet I  _still_  wouldn’t be cheating on him, and certainly not for a damn grade I can  _earn_.”

“Watch your tone, Cadet,” Pike barked out, and Jim stiffened. Pike’s expression of command disappeared quickly, however, and his voice softened. “And watch your ass, kid—there’s enough against you without giving them grounds to throw you out. Just…be discreet, at least.”

“Sure. Whatever.” Jim took the warning as a bunch of old men being foolish, and he waved a flippant hand goodbye once he’d stood. “Have a nice day, Pike.”

Whatever Pike had intended to say afterwards was easily drowned by the bustle of the hallways—damn, and Jim had wanted to be early today, too—but Jim still scowled as he walked, suspecting what he would have said. Suspecting that anyone else wouldn’t have gotten that  _helpful_  conversation.

Sometimes, it was really annoying being Jim Kirk.


	14. 2.4

Although Spock was often one for attempting to classify his interactions with other beings, for some reason, he was loath to do this with Jim. This was not a new realization, and under normal circumstances, he would have simply considered it something that  _was_ , and not thought about it beyond that. However, as a professor at the Academy, his habit had recently been to analyze  _everything_ , relevant or not, and find the meaning underneath. The fact that he still continued to resist doing so with his evening with Jim was…unsettling. Very much so.

Logically, Spock knew that any interaction could be broken down into events. Logically, he knew that his evening meal and subsequent conversation with Jim were no different than an encounter with a friend such as Pentenda. They ate dinner. They conversed on pertinent subjects. Spock considered it reasonable to accept Jim’s offer of a walk afterwards, and so did so. As a linear chain of events, it was perfectly acceptable; however, to quote his mother, ‘the devil was in the details,’ and the fact of the matter was that the details were far more relevant than he would have expected.

During their dinner, Jim had picked the jalapenos out of his meal and slid them onto Spock’s plate, and Spock had done the same with the cherry tomatoes in his salad. They did not discuss it, and they also did not discuss the fact that when they decided it was time for dessert, they had  _shared_  the bowl of rich French vanilla ice cream, as Spock had never been able to enjoy more than a few bites of the frozen treat. However, there had been a point where Jim dropped his spoon, and Spock had willingly surrendered his own, unconcerned with the subject of contamination. Jim had accepted it, and continued to eat. Afterward, they walked back to Spock’s apartment, as it was located just nine point two blocks from the restaurant. Spock was chilled from the dessert, and Jim had offered him his coat. Spock had accepted. Of all of these details, they had discussed none of them beforehand. There had been no disclaimers or explanations, and this was normal for their interactions, as it had always been.

However, Spock realized that this was not  _normal_  for two adults who had not seen each other for many years, not without some external factor such as a Vulcan bond. This level of comfort was simply unusual.

It puzzled him, and as it was rare that anything did, he thought about it much over the weekend. Had he not, however, Pentenda’s greeting on Monday morning would have forced him to.

“Well, don’t you look like you’re walking on air?”

Spock resisted the urge to look down at his feet, aware of both the expression and the fact that walking on air was impossible for Vulcanoid species. Still, the greeting in light of his recent thoughts was…disquieting.

“I am uncertain of the relevance of that statement,” he replied calmly as he moved towards his desk, pointedly not looking at her. He was aware that his actions spoke of avoidance, but regardless, he was unable to completely stifle the reaction.

“Sure. Had a nice weekend, then?” Her voice was cheerful and thankfully moderated. Spock continued to ignore her.

“I had a productive weekend.”

“Sure. Go to any nice restaurants?” The direction of her questioning was odd and obvious, and Spock was not entirely able to contain his exasperation.

“Speak your mind, Pentenda.” It was clear, after all, that she would do so regardless of his wishes, and at least this way, it would be clear and simple, with no cultural subtleties.

Spock was surprised when she was frankly  _blunt_  about it.

“I won’t claim that I’m the best judge of character, but I’ve always thought you were smart, at least. Dallying with a cadet isn’t  _smart_ , Spock.”

Spock’s hands stilled over the datapadd he had been reaching for, and his fingers trembled slightly before he curled them into a loose fist.

“I am uncertain of the relevance of that statement,” he repeated, and he turned to see her serious face. He had expected something concerning her misconceptions, but he had not expected her to be  _quite_  so incorrect, and it was unsettling, given the direction of her thoughts.

“Cute,” she said, following the word with an amused whinny. “You know, I heard the funniest thing from a friend of mine. He said he saw Lieutenant Commander Spock having dinner with one of our new cadets on Friday. Not just anywhere, either— _La’Ouu’Ten_. And you know the reputation that place has.”

Spock did—it was a reputation for discretion and privacy, and curiously enough, this meant that it was one of the most watched places in all of Terran culture. If an unwise affair were to manifest, chances were that it would manifest  _there_ , at least for Starfleet officials.

Spock had not considered that in selecting the location, however, and for that reason, his voice came out clipped.

“I find their food pleasing.”

“Spock, you know as well as I do that the people who go there usually don’t care about the food—they care about the _dessert_.” The emphasis she placed on her last word made Spock shiver, uncomfortable. They both knew that the dessert she spoke of was an illicit one.

“Be that as it may, I wished to provide Jim—”

“ _Jim_?” Her voice was incredulous, and Spock watched as she gaped for a moment, and then closed her mouth with a snap and a dramatic hand to her eyes. “Oh hell, not Jim  _Kirk_?” Spock did not confirm the name, not immediately. However, for once, Pentenda seemed to have patience, and she waited.

“Yes, Jim Kirk.”

“ _Masakja_ , Spock! That boy has slept with half the school at this point. What if you catch something?”

Spock frowned, both at the disparagement of his character and of Jim’s. Once he had known Jim was present at the academy, he had listened to the rumors…and years of being Jim’s friend meant that he immediately knew them to be false, as his Jim had never been so careless with the emotions of others.

“You are assuming that I solicited Jim Kirk for sexual relations. I find this distasteful, and do not wish to discuss it further.”

Their office was filled with stifling silence, and Spock wondered if Pentenda felt chastised; it would be a first for her. However, the silence continued long enough that Spock felt certain this must be the case, and he opened his desk drawer, looking for a stylus so that he may resume his work.

“So…you didn’t?”

Spock closed the drawer with a loud thud. It was unseemly, this display of annoyance and anger, and so he made certain that his words were calm.

“If you need to ask, Pentenda, you have clearly not absorbed anything about Vulcan culture from my five years of residence here.”

There was a sigh from her side of the room, and when Spock looked up again, he saw her looking relieved.

“No need to get in a huff, Spock. I know you didn’t.” Spock was confused for a moment, but she continued. “But you have to know that people are going to ask.”

People who were not as kind as Pentenda, nor as delicate. The words should have been unnecessary, but somehow over the past few days, Spock had forgotten that he was a professor, notoriously against socialization, and Jim was a cadet. Spock considered himself fortunate that his relationship with Jim was not as it seemed.

“Jim Kirk is a childhood…acquaintance. I have not seen him for seven years and seven months. We do not share a physically intimate relationship.” It was a simple, truthful statement, and one that Spock spoke with confidence.

Pentenda’s voice, however, was soft as though he had murmured the words with uncertainty.

“And you don’t want to, right?”

Spock considered it; he would have been a fool not to consider it, especially since the question was one of great importance. In his mind’s eye, he saw Jim as he had been that evening, handsome and dazzling in his exuberance, but although he felt that same stutter of his heart as he had before, Spock felt certain that it was now nothing more than a facet of his reaction to Jim, something that had always been there.

“Jim is a very attractive individual.” The statement was unnecessary, but he still made it. “This has no bearing on our interactions.”

Her whistle of relief and acceptance was a welcome sound, even though it hurt his ears.

“That’s good, Spock. That’s very good.”

Spock wondered, briefly, if she would say such a thing if she knew that his heart still hammered.

********

That afternoon was spent as Spock always spent his free periods—buried in work and busy with those students that bothered to visit his office for help with their studies. It was a simple afternoon, one that Spock had become accustomed to in his years spent teaching his various courses, and that would have been all it was…except, as it appeared, Pentenda was not the only one who held concerns about Spock’s off-time hours.

Captain Christopher Pike was someone Spock had had very little interaction with up until the last six months, because of a simple factor of rank. Pike was above Spock in rank, and, although generally he seemed sociable and gregarious, Spock’s own personality meant that they did not see each other at the events normally frequented by either. However, with the final designs of the first Warp 9 ship being confirmed, Spock, as a scientist, had been required to confer with those who would be most affected by the design, such as command officers, specifically captain. Through this required exposure and conversation, Spock had found Captain Pike to be a man of good morals and high intelligence, bravery and recklessness. He was admirable in that way, and he also appeared to have a curious interest in Spock, much the same as Pentenda did. Weeks after the matter was resolved, Spock found himself occasionally having an overlapping lunch period with the captain, and occasionally, they spent it together.

Rank was still a matter of concern for Spock, however, and so when Captain Pike came into his office, unannounced, Spock immediately stood at attention.

“Sir.”

“At ease, Spock.” Spock relaxed minutely at the friendly words. “I just came to talk to you, is all.”

“Yes, sir. How may I assist?”

Pike smiled at his formality, and sat in the chair in front of Spock’s desk. Spock took this as permission, and he sat as well.

“This might sound ridiculous, but I mainly just wanted to ask how you spent your weekend.”

Spock immediately stiffened, and he recited the events of his weekend, aware that Pike’s eyes were watching him very closely.

“On Friday, I reviewed my students’ initial assessments for proficiency. I opened several files of interest on my personal computer, and I meditated into the afternoon once I had returned home. I attended dinner with an acquaintance of mine that I had not seen for many years, and we conversed before concluding our evening. On Saturday, I assembled a comprehensive report of my students’ personal levels in computer science and adjusted my curriculum and assignments accordingly. On Sunday, I again meditated, and then I assembled the final science reports for the launch of the Warp 9 vessel. I was attempting to integrate them as of seventeen point six minutes ago.”

Spock expected more questions concerning his personal time, but Pike only sighed, the sound one of relief, and continued to smile.

“Yeah? And how do the reports look?”

Spock blinked rapidly before answering the question.

“They are well, sir. There were several compromises that had to be made in terms of the equipment available and the allowable room for the science division, but I am certain the revised distribution of resources will be approved by all parties.” He easily located the relevant datapadd, and extended it. “My report, Captain.”

Pike waved it away and stood, looking thoughtful.

“Thanks, Spock; I’ll look at it later. Have a good week, alright?”

Spock nodded, and he stood in the aftermath.

“You as well, Captain.”

Pike left without another word, something that was curious to Spock. However, he did not question it.

After hearing Pentenda’s concerns, he was pleasantly surprised to find that Pike did not appear to care at all whom Spock spent his time with.


	15. 2.5

Jim—partly out of rebellion and partly because he wanted to—got up early the next day to attend Spock’s six o’clock lecture on the morality of artificial intelligence as a slave to humankind, and although he would hardly say he absorbed it well after only four hours of sleep, the reactions it got from Spock’s students were interesting. As far as Jim could see, there were two groups: those who respected Spock and wanted to get into his pants, and those who respected Spock and  _didn’t_  want to get into his pants. There was a very fine dividing line—if Jim wasn’t mistaken, he thought he saw a couple of stunned-looking people transition from group two to group one over the course of the two hour class—but nonetheless it was noticeable. The people from group two usually just took notes and nodded, absorbing Spock’s words for what they were: a lecture from a brilliant man. Those from group one were much more interactive, and Jim was amused to note the way they jumped on every question like puppies desperately wanting praise.

He was also amused to note that when Jim answered or asked questions, they all shot him confused and occasionally resentful looks.

“And what if a computer could replace man’s intelligence? Would it be justifiable, then, to say that they are the same? Equal?”

Spock looked surprised when Jim answered, possibly because Jim wasn’t in his class normally and he hadn’t seen him, or possibly because Jim had actually read up on the subject.

“Equal in what way? If a computer was actually capable of the same level of thought and complexity as an organic being, it wouldn’t be artificial intelligence—it would just be intelligence. Also, saying two species with the same level of intelligence are equal are like saying two ions with the same charge are equal—they’re not, not necessarily.”

“Very good, Cadet Kirk—you have obviously read Ch’Bara. I wonder, however, how you would react to an android taking your place.”

“You don’t have to—no one and nothing could ever replace me.” The boast was met with laughter from all sides, but Jim just continued to grin. Spock seemed less amused, of course, but Jim blamed that almost entirely on the fact that he was teaching a class, and smiling would probably kill him.

“Nonetheless.” Spock looked away from Jim and back to the board, which was coated with neat Standard lettering detailing assignments that Jim thankfully didn’t have to do. “As you can see, class, your assignments for this week involve a great deal of reading. I suggest you get started.”

There was grumbling, but it was quiet. Jim didn’t wait for Spock to resume his position by his desk before darting forward, neatly and efficiently cutting off two women who had already made a beeline for him. He was pretty sure he heard them growl behind him, and he wondered if he’d slept with either (or both) of them.

“So, Spock…I was thinking we should go do something.”

Spock shook his head mutely. Jim was aware that the line forming behind him was listening intently, but he didn’t particularly care—he was  _allowed_  to be friends with Spock.

“Unfortunately, Cadet Kirk, I am required at the main science laboratory tonight. However…you may meet me there if you wish, and observe.

Jim nodded along cheerfully, ignoring the fact that, if it were anyone else, Jim would find spending an evening watching them work dull as all hell. He was too busy glorying in the triumph—because Spock wanted to spend time with _him_ , because they were friends—to notice that his clever insertion of himself into the class had caused more than a little gossip among the students who had formed a line behind him, and who were left waiting when Spock gathered his things and left.

Unfortunately, Jim wasn’t quite so out of it that he missed the quick jab of an elbow in his right side.

“Oof! What the—” he turned, and found a familiar face glaring at him. His surprise immediately turned to excitement. “Uhura! What brings you here?”

“This is my class, you dummy—Professor Spock is teaching me about the science behind starship communications systems so I can maintain them myself, and he also teaches my class on the Vulcan language. Now why the heck are you here? You’re not a scientist.”

Jim just continued to smile as he pretended to ponder the question.

“Umm…the company?” Jim ended it with a smile directed at the small wiry Andorian on Uhura’s left, an expression she returned.

Uhura jabbed him again.

“ _Sure_. What’s your game? If you’re trying to bother me—”

Jim leaned away from the next jab, hands out in front of him like he was defending himself from a bull.

“Sadly, I’m not, much as I’d love to. I was just curious about the class.”

She eyed him suspiciously.

“That so?”

“Yep.”

“Oh.” She deflated, as if she were truly surprised Jim wasn’t here to cause trouble—he really had made a bad impression on her. “Well, if that’s the case…welcome. This is Ka’Dern.” She pointed to the woman at her side, and Jim shook her hand gladly, watching as the tips of her antennae went deep blue. He smiled again…and Uhura poked him in the side.

“You’d better go catch Professor Spock; I don’t know what he was going to show you, but if you want to be caught up in the class, it’s now or never.”

Jim nodded his thanks and darted away, a bit sad to leave the still-blushing Andorian woman, but considering it okay.

He spent most of the night watching Spock perform tests on algae, complete with running commentary, and he couldn’t have been happier.

********

For reasons Jim found perfectly justifiable, he continued to wake up early and attend Spock’s class, showing a better attendance record for this one class than in any of his official ones. It truly was the company, he decided; not only did he get to listen to Spock lecture about a wide variety of things like the good old days, but the more Jim examined the class roll, the more he noticed that there were a surprising number of attractive men and women among those in the “geek” class; an untapped resource, so to speak, and that wasn’t just including Uhura.

Of course, Jim learned pretty quickly to pick his conquests wisely; after a week spent with the lovely Ka’Dern (it ended badly, because these things usually did) most of the Andorian attendants refused to talk to him and Uhura wasn’t particularly happy with him either. After another week or two everyone had cooled down relatively speaking, and Jim was very careful from that point to pick only people like him: fun-loving and unwilling to commit. It made it much easier, and for once, Jim wasn’t relying on Gary for regular sex. All in all, Jim’s weeks passed by with relative ease—he was doing well in his classes, was even near top of the class—and when he started to eat lunch with Spock regularly on the academy grounds and then started to attend Spock’s evening class on Vulcan language, Jim’s grades soared even higher.

It was mid-June when everything came to a screeching halt, and not just because the weather started to tempt the cadets into taking time off to enjoy the dry air and the beach. Jim was sitting in Spock’s language course, grouped with several of the other language students to practice pronunciation of the Anakana dialect and because they had all gotten used to him at this point, and Jim interjected their practice lines with something he considered a little more interesting.

“ _Wani ra estuhl ro yorosha_.” The literal translation was little more than “I want to touch you,” but it meant worlds more in Vulcan. Uhura looked like she wanted to slap him really hard, but whether that was because of what he said or because his pronunciation was terrible, he didn’t know.

And then something happened—Jim couldn’t explain it—but she got this dreamy look in her eyes and then deliberately stared down at her datapadd.

“That, Cadet Kirk, is not a common greeting in Vulcan.”

Jim tilted his head back and found Spock standing behind him, looking a cross between amused and annoyed. Jim grinned up at him.

“Darn shame.”

“Also, you included far too much emphasis on  _estuhl_. For it to be effective, you would need to pronounce it with more emphasis on  _yorosha_ , or else it would be considered significantly more insulting.”

Jim grinned at the fact that Spock was giving him tips for Vulcan pick-up lines.

“Yeah?”

He turned, ready to try just that on a still deliberately focused Uhura when Spock nodded, and repeated something that flowed, and was as unpronounceable as whale song. Aware that this was the same phrase he had butchered before, Jim flushed a little (hey, he had to give credit where it was due), but Uhura went a step further, taking two quick breaths that Jim only heard because he was so close to her. Just those two little breaths.

Jim stared as realization hit, perhaps too hard, and as Spock left to go help another group, Jim considered shouting it to the skies.

_No way…she has a crush on him too!_

Well, it explained a lot—certainly why she wasn’t interested in Jim, but also why she was in Spock’s computer science course, and would be again the following year: exposure. Familiarity. Common ground.

But it didn’t explain the way Jim reacted, not at all.

“He’ll never be interested in you, you know.”

Uhura snapped her head up, eyes almost as wide as Jim’s.

“What did you say?”

Jim forced a smile, but it was weak.

“Nothing. Where were we?” He made a show of looking for the list of phrases they were supposed to be practicing, but he doubted Uhura was fooled. He didn’t care very much…because he was confused as hell.

He hadn’t done  _that_  particular brand of hard rejection since he was about thirteen, and for years afterward, he had justified it as the result of being interested in the girl who was interested in Spock, and of being a stupid kid. Now, though, Jim had had some experience, known some men and women and aliens in the most carnal of ways; he had thought himself past that stage in his life…and Christ, he wasn’t  _that_  interested in Uhura.

But apparently, he was still turning away potential love interests on Spock’s behalf. Even love interests who didn’t stand a chance, or that he didn’t notice.

_What. The. Hell._

Jim reacted to it in the only way possible: as soon as class was out, he went to find solace from Bones and all his reluctant wisdom, not even pausing long enough to say goodbye either to his acquired classmates or to Spock. Jim remembered only when he burst into an empty room that Bones was working long hours at the academy hospital this week, and so as a second choice, he went to find Gary.

Gary was in the library, in the far back. This was unusual, but when Jim went closer, he found him attempting to convince a pretty redhead that sex in the back shelves was a great idea. Jim was amused, and he laughed, relieved. There was one thing he could count on: Gary being Gary.

“Gary!” The loud whisper carried enough that Gary whirled around, his smile slipping from his face like wet paint.

“Jim—I haven’t seen you for weeks. What are you doing here?” His tone was not welcoming.

“Weeks?” It took Jim a few minutes to realize this was true, and he winced a little, guilty.“Oh—I wanted to talk to you, is all.”

“To me? Ha!” Gary turned back to the redhead who was watching them curiously, and he dismissed her with a smile. “Sorry, babe—we’ll pick this up later.”

She stormed off, clearly not happy, but Jim didn’t pay any attention to her, because Gary was looking downright vicious.

“Ran out of new  _friends_ , Jim?”

Jim resisted the urge to back up a step.

“Nothing like that. Just…wanting an old one, is all.” The statement made him uncomfortable for reasons he couldn’t understand and didn’t want to, but he didn’t take it back.

Gary just snorted, canting a hip against the nearest shelf.

“Please. If you think I don’t have better things to do with my time—”

“Than sex in the dusty back shelves?” Jim interrupted, looking bored. “Fine—I’ll just be on my way.”

“Really.” Gary looked interested for half a moment, then suspicious, then finally accepting. He held out a hand, which was new. “Fine, come on.”

The back shelves were dusty, and contained books that no one was ever likely to read, on the life cycle of the Matusian blood worm and the seven hundred distinct types of Koradean clay and the intricacy of a Sverin reptile’s mating dance. Jim couldn’t help but think that, if the decision had been his, he would not have chosen the back of the library for sex, risk of exposure or not.

Still, when Gary pushed him against the hard metal shelf and Jim felt him unzipping his pants, touching him with a familiar hand, he forgot about his surroundings a little bit. Forgot about everything…except those things he didn’t, but when the image popped into his head of someone else, he pushed it aside.

“You want me, Jim?” Gary murmured, his breath hot on Jim’s ear, and Jim imagined a deeper voice, a more loving voice. Imagined plunging into a body he wanted or riding a cock for something other than a distraction, but a distraction from what, Jim wasn’t entirely sure.

“Sure. Yes.” He  _wanted_ , that was for sure, but his reply left something to be desired, because Gary slapped him hard on the ass, the sound echoing through the emptiness around them. Jim moaned.

“You want  _me_ , Jim?”

Jim didn’t understand the difference, but he obligingly repeated.

“I want you, Gary.”

There was a murmur that sounded almost like “oh thank  _God_ ,” but Jim didn’t care. Thick fingers slipped inside him—not preparing or stretching so much as making sure the lube went deep enough—and the first thrust of cock stung, but only a little.

Jim closed his eyes and gripped the shelves tight in his hands, and thought of nothing but the sensation, or that’s what he told himself.


	16. 2.6

It would be incorrect to say that Spock was entirely surprised to find Jim in his computer science lecture the Tuesday after their meal together. It would also be incorrect to say that he was surprised to see him in the weeks that followed, both in his previously mentioned six am lecture—for which Spock would say Jim had an aptitude, if he were being complimentary—and in his language course in the evening. However, it would also be incorrect to say that Spock expected his  _own_  reaction to Jim’s presence, both during and after class.

It was fortunate that Jim was not in fact his student, because after just a few short weeks it became clear to Spock that he was terribly biased in his favor. Even worse, however, was the fact that after making the realization, Spock did nothing to deter it. He still asked Jim more questions than he asked his students, still assigned Jim more readings, still allowed Jim to accompany him to the labs—it was simply unacceptable that he should favor Jim so, but after a lifetime of accommodating him in his various misadventures, Spock was used to focusing all of his energy on Jim’s welfare. It was like they were teenagers again, except this time, Jim seemed the older of the two by far.

And curiously enough, Spock was not bothered by this…or at least, not bothered by it until he met Gary Mitchell.

It was a Wednesday—this was irrelevant, except it coincided with the day Spock held extended office hours, something that was both practical and illogical as he held quizzes on Thursdays and this schedule promoted procrastination. However, due to a new sickness that was affecting the student body and the resulting lowered attendance in both of his classes, Spock had reluctantly postponed that week’s minor exam, and the result was that his office was empty except for Pentenda and her incessant humming. He was uncertain how to occupy his time for the four hours he was scheduled, and so, Spock did something he had never done before: he took a break.

His mother had approved of walking as something to do when the mind began to lag, and Spock found that he had duplicated her habits in his time on Earth. So he walked, first with purpose, and then without. He circled the science labs, still active even though most classes had been dismissed, and he offered his services as he saw fit, being accepted by two of the four students. After their experiment had been stabilized, he then continued across the Academy grounds, observing first the geology department and then the department for new world agriculture; he found their progress impressive, and he said as much, to the surprise and pleasure of those buried in their work. Then, Spock circled back around, intending to take no more than a half hour for his walk.

Unfortunately, it was on his way back to his office that he became…distracted, so to speak, by the second year field exercises. A requirement for all Starfleet cadets, the basic survival instructions were short and seemingly superfluous, at least until the end-of-the-year application of them. The result, however, was that during the warmer months, the survival course found themselves lounging outside, laughing and chatting and sipping chilled soda. It was a very pleasant, lighthearted atmosphere, or so Spock had heard—being Vulcan, he had passed his outdoor survival course long before he had enrolled at the Academy.

However, all of these details were moot in light of the fact that this course was also apparently the section that Jim was in, and his blond hair could be spotted easily across the field, even had his laughter not carried. It was curious that Spock could still recognize such a sound; Jim, after all, laughed rarely and had since he was very young, never mind the fact that his voice had deepened with age. Still, a quick look was able to confirm that it was indeed Jim, and Spock would have felt pleased at his apparent joy, had it not been for the dark head resting in his lap.

Spock was aware that Jim had other friends; it was inevitable, as Jim was a vibrant individual with a clever mind, and physically attractive besides. Naturally, Jim would appeal to many...but Spock had somehow forgotten that fact from their youth. Forgotten it, and then been harshly reminded by the sight of that same dark-haired individual leaning close to Jim, too close. It was not a friendly gesture, and it unsettled Spock in a way that he refused to analyze.

Instead, he turned and left, quickly. There was no direction in mind, no plan except to face away, and so with no other thought, he walked to the drinking fountain and sipped slowly. The water was cold on his teeth and Spock was not particularly thirsty, but he continued to drink rather than face the empty hallways. It was curious, and illogical.

“You’re not gonna drink all of that, are you?”

Spock straightened quickly at the unfamiliar voice, not entirely certain how long he had been utilizing the fountain. He turned, and was met with the impatient gaze of a dark-haired man, one he did not know. Spock inclined his head.

“My apologies.” He made to turn away and proceed with his duties, but something in the dark brown eyes stopped him: he could have sworn the emotion was ‘resentment.’ “Is there something the matter?”

The young man seemed to shake himself, and the expression disappeared to be replaced with a polite smile.

“No, not at all. You’re Professor Spock, right?”

Something in his tone made Spock correct him automatically.

“Lieutenant Commander Spock, yes.”

The man shrugged, the pull of his cadet uniform looking uncomfortable, and also untidy—the overcoat was halfway unzipped.

“Sorry. I’m Gary Mitchell. I’m one of Jim Kirk’s friends. You know, his  _friend_?”

The emphasis made Spock frown minutely, and his voice came out cold, perhaps emotionally so.

“I beg your pardon?”

Cadet Mitchell just continued to smile.

“Nothing. Excuse me, Professor.”

Spock watched him as he sipped from the drinking fountain, the drink small considering the fact that he had apparently walked all the way here to wait, rejecting two other fountains in fine working condition in the process. When Cadet Mitchell turned and returned the way he had come, he didn’t give Spock so much as a single glance before he walked casually out on the field and back to his seat beside Jim. It was then that Spock realized who the dark head had belonged to, and also, what Cadet Mitchell had meant by his use of “friend.”

Spock was…alarmed, perhaps unduly so. Not that Jim apparently had a lover—students were fully functioning young adults, after all, with few exceptions—but rather, that Jim had selected that particular man. That man who, apparently, made Jim laugh regularly while Spock could rarely do so. He was even attractive, if in a way Spock did not find appealing. Perhaps they were a good match.

Spock didn’t realize he had walked all the way back to his office until he saw Pentenda looking up at him with surprise on her face, her whistle slowing to an abrupt stop.

“Hey, Spock, are you alright? You were gone for forty minutes—you’re not sick, are you?”

Spock shook his head, regaining his slipping composure with ease, and he sat at his desk before answering.

“Of course not, Pentenda. I merely ventured to the science labs.”

The unfinished explanation came unbidden to his lips, and she nodded slowly, looking relieved.

“Good, that’s good. Um, how was that?”

Spock didn’t answer immediately, as he noticed his hand had fallen on a now very familiar envelope. Pentenda’s hopeful voice made sense now, and he sighed.

“No, Pentenda.”

When he looked up at her again, she was smiling just slightly.

“Can’t blame a girl for trying.” She held out a hand, and Spock rose to return the invitation. He ignored her expectant gaze as he slipped it into her hand, and he resumed his seat. Her sigh was loud in the silence, but thankfully, she didn’t press, or ask what had been so important that it kept him away for forty minutes.

However, she did start whistling again.

********

The realization that Jim was a sexual being came, somewhat abruptly, in Spock’s meditation session that night. Up through the afternoon that was, unfortunately, not as productive as he’d planned, Spock had resigned himself to an acceptance and an understanding of Jim being interested in Gary Mitchell alone. It was a process that was slower than he’d expected, but more importantly, it was significantly more complicated than he would have planned, even given his relative unfamiliarity with human sexuality.

It had not occurred to him that Jim desired men. It had not occurred to him that Jim would find traits such as the ones Mitchell possessed desirable. It had not occurred to Spock that Jim had been engaging in a long-term relationship such as the one suggested by Cadet Mitchell, as Jim had never mentioned it before. There were many things that did not occur to Spock about the situation, but then, all of these truths were also underlain by one that Spock had not considered at all, despite the fact that it should have been considered.

Jim was sexually active. Jim had engaged in enough practice of human mating rituals to be comfortable with a single relationship, something that was a relatively late occurrence for all of the human beings Spock had observed up to this point. Jim was an adult, in every sense of the term, as unsettling as the idea may be. Jim was more experienced than Spock in this aspect, and—in the eyes of his culture—fully grown.

It was alarming, and the presence of that reaction also had to be examined, something which was thankfully not as time consuming as previous ideas. The answer to Spock’s reaction was really quite simple, in fact: he cared for Jim very deeply, and always had. Always would, in fact. Spock believed the best term for the emotion he associated with Jim was ‘love,’ despite the fact that it bore little resemblance to the emotion he felt for his mother. However, if it was in fact one and the same, this reaction was normal. Protectiveness. Annoyance. A minor sense of betrayal. It was all perfectly normal, really, and this reassurance was enough that Spock was able to sleep that night, content with his findings.

When he awoke, however, and found that Jim had decided not to attend either of his classes that day and the emotions roiled in his stomach, Spock was forced to wonder if it was in fact as simple as it had seemed.


	17. 2.7

The launch of the  _USS Constellation_  was scheduled for August 2, 2255, and Jim spent the intermediate weeks beforehand making absolutely certain to attend only those classes that he was actually enrolled in. He told himself it was the result of needing to focus, and the equivalent of midterms that were nearly upon him…but the truth was, he felt uncomfortable every time he considered attending those classes that he had so enjoyed just weeks prior. They were studying a different Vulcan dialect by now, Jim was sure, and no doubt they would be constructing their own symbiotic computer chips in computer science…but he still didn’t attend. He got more rest, with his days beginning later and ending earlier. He ate lunch with Gary three times a week, ate breakfast with Bones every day, did his homework on time and performed adequately in class.

His grades had started to drop slightly, and neither Jim nor his teachers could understand why. Jim said it was stress; Gary said it was a lack of sex, and set about attempting to fix that personally.

The truth, however, was that it was neither, and this became readily apparent when Jim returned to his dinky dorm room one evening and found Spock standing calmly in the hallway. Jim froze, hand on the strap of his bag and feet glued to the floor.

“…Spock?”

Spock looked startled to see him, which was odd, as he must have known this was Jim’s place.

“Jim. Are you not ill?”

Jim shrugged, wondering if he looked sick and wondering if he looked nervous and just wondering.

“No, I’m not.”

“I see. You have not attended my classes for two point six weeks.”

Jim winced. Man, but he could be a dick sometimes.

“I’ve been busy. Um, sorry.”

Spock relaxed, appearing to forgive him instantly. Jim felt worse, uncomfortable and slightly sick; maybe he  _was_  ill.

“I had hoped to enroll you for the midterm, so that you may receive credit for your participation.”

Jim jerked back. No way did he want Spock to be his official teacher.  _No way._  He didn’t question his motives for it, but he simply knew that it  _could_   _not_  happen.

“No, Spock, don’t worry about it.” They fell into silence and Jim looked away, desperately searching for a topic of conversation. “Um, are you attending the launch tonight?”

When Jim looked back, Spock looked disgruntled.

“I had received an invitation, yes. However, I am not one for parties.”

That was an understatement, and Jim laughed, the sound surprising them both. Funny, but Jim felt like he hadn’t laughed in weeks.

“Spock, it’s the first constitution class starship to ever be launched; you  _have_  to come.” No doubt Spock’s brilliance decorated their systems, infiltrated their computer, adorned their halls. It was something Jim was proud of by association, and he suddenly desperately wanted Spock to attend.

Spock looked at him in contemplation.

“Are you attending, Jim?”

Jim’s heart beat once, hard, before it seemed to remember that this was  _Spock_. Jim’s friend.

“Yeah. I got Gary to give me a ticket a while back.”

Spock seemed to stiffen without moving.

“Mr. Mitchell?” It was the voice, then, that had changed; Jim wasn’t sure why.

“Yes.”

“Will he also be attending?”

“Nah—Gary asked if I wanted him to go, but…” Jim trailed off, not offering a false reason nor sharing the real one. The truth was that over the past weeks, Gary had become…clingy, if such a thing were possible. Possessive and jealous, he had even seemed to resent Bones…and that wasn’t including the sex, which was starting to get rougher than Jim was comfortable with. Frankly, Jim hadn’t wanted him there.

“I see. Will you not bring a female?” Dear Spock, who seemed to miss the fact that Jim had only been interested in dark-haired men for months.

But Jim didn’t mention that either, finding a polite, socially acceptable reason for him to be alone at the social event of the season.

“I only have the one ticket, Spock. Besides, I was…kinda hoping to chat with you. Since I haven’t been in class and all, and I have the time.”

It completely ruined the idea of avoiding those two treasured classes, but the look of relief and happiness on Spock’s face made it worth it.

“I see. That would be…pleasing. If you would meet me there, I would be pleased to attend.”

“Sure,” Jim responded, and that was it. Spock left down the hallway and Jim watched him, and Jim had barely gotten the door to his dorm open and checked for Bones’ absence before his hand was down his pants, pumping himself roughly as he leaned against the door, eyes closed. He imagined he could hear footsteps outside, imagined that Spock had returned, had forgotten something. He imagined Spock would chime for entry in that deep voice, ask to see him, and Jim would not move, not utter a word as he jerked himself…and when he was finally coming, he would open the door to Spock’s increasingly concerned tone, and that is how he would see him. And Spock would know.

Jim didn’t think he’d ever come so hard in his life as he did at those thoughts, but it was unsatisfying. Meaningless.

“God, what am I doing?” Jim asked the empty room, sagging against the wall, and feeling guilty and annoyed and spent and still so impossibly turned on that he thought the flesh in his hands would revive itself again.

Jim didn’t know what he was doing, but he knew it had to stop. Spock was his friend, but that was all confused now…caught up in dreams of  _doing_  things with him, in ideas of touching him, of jealousy of everyone who had ever looked at him. Even as Jim tried to convince himself that it wasn’t about Spock,  _it wasn’t_ , he knew he was wrong and that it had been building for a while…but it had to stop.

 _Just stop, Jim_ , his mind whispered,  _you’ll be at the launch with him, you’ll be his friend, and that has to be enough._

It had to be, because Jim didn’t think he could handle it if he drove Spock away.

********

The launch was much as Jim had expected; a formal affair, meant for only Starfleet officials, scientists, and the richest of those who were not officers. If Jim wasn’t mistaken, he was the only cadet in the entire station, and it was amusing and glorious to know that everyone who was already there saw his young face and murmured and wondered.

Of course, that wasn’t why he was there. Originally Jim had asked for the ticket as a way to feel connected to his future, as a way to see that ship and know that one day, with enough hard work and scraping by, one just like it would be his—the  _Enterprise_  if he was lucky, even. Now, however, his motives were partly that, and partly the idea that Spock would be here, his Spock. That Spock would have come precisely for him, because Spock cared for him in his own way. It wouldn’t quite work like that, but then, Jim’s life never did—he’d expected it at this point, even expected that Spock might get dragged away by a fellow scientist, or that Jim might run into an admiral who wanted to talk his ear off.

What he didn’t expect was for Spock to bring a  _date_ , and the sight of them—Spock and Professor Salura, one of the navigation instructors who was beautifully golden like all of her species and tall as the tallest of men—brought a slick feeling in Jim’s gut. Logically, he knew that Spock should have brought a date—after all, he had probably wrangled multiple tickets. Logically, he knew that Professor Salura was an amazing choice for someone like Spock, brilliant and sharp and of equal rank. Logically, he knew that he should have been happy for his friend, having landed such an amazing woman.

As it was, Jim could barely keep himself from glaring at them both, illogically, and he was clenching his teeth by the time Spock reached him.

“Jim,” he greeted, voice warm, and Jim’s response was a short nod. Spock was confused, clearly, but he still continued his introduction. “Jim, this is Professor Pentenda Salura. Pentenda, this is Cadet James Kirk.”

“Hello, Cadet Kirk.”

She smiled with green lips, and Jim returned the greeting with the brightest smile in his repertoire, keeping an eye on Spock the entire time. Spock appeared not to mind.

“So, what brings you two here?” Jim asked, deliberately casual. “First date?”

Salura laughed, the sound like the air releasing from a leaking balloon, and Jim was annoyed.

“Of course not. Spock is—”

Jim didn’t hear the rest, because he murmured a quick excuse—what it was, he wasn’t sure—and darted away. He was a fool, a great fool.

Spock was his friend, nothing more. And although he had told himself this just this afternoon, it was difficult to justify it now when faced with someone obviously worthy of Spock’s attention. Spock probably knew Jim loved him because they had always been close, but he didn’t know that Jim…wanted him. And more importantly, Spock didn’t want Jim. Perhaps he never had; perhaps he’d always just been saddled with him.

 _Now Jim, that’s not fair_ …It didn’t matter, because the thoughts still came.

When Jim noticed Spock excuse himself and head to the bathroom, Jim followed, darting through the crowd of people he should have been wooing, should have been laughing and joking with for his future career. Instead, he chose to sneak through the double doors and into the relatively small bathroom on the space station.

He entered just in time to catch Spock washing his hands, and he knew that his stance was aggressive.

“You brought a date.”

Spock stiffened, and when he turned, he looked unamused.

“Yes. You were quite rude.”

Jim shrugged, deliberately leaning against the door for a moment longer before he sauntered forward.

“Sorry,” he intoned, his voice too cheerful. “I was surprised. Thought that maybe my  _friend_  would tell me something like this. How long’s it been going on? Months?”

The idea that Spock had been dating someone for so long and Jim hadn’t known rankled, but the other possibility—that it was new—was worse.

Spock looked at him with something resembling confusion, but it couldn’t have been confusion; Jim thought his question ( _his interrogation_ ) was pretty clear.

“No. I invited her this afternoon.”

Jim felt something brittle in his chest crack, and the rein on his anger slipped.

“This afternoon? After saying you’d go with me?”

Now Spock looked annoyed, his lips pursing just slightly and he crossed his arms across his narrow chest, looking stunning in basic black as always.

“I did not say—”

Jim surged forward, startling Spock into backing away. Jim didn’t remember deciding to move, but once the motion had already been completed, he saw that maybe it was what he had intended from the beginning, since following Spock into the bathroom in the first place.

Spock looked…uncertain, and Jim had never wanted that.

“Sorry,” he said, clear and simple and sincere, and then he did it again. Spock was prepared this time and didn’t move, but Jim wondered if he considered it worse to be chest to chest with him.

“Spock?” Jim asked, feeling Spock’s heart beat in his side, feeling his body shake.

“Yes, Jim?”

“You okay?”

Spock swallowed. Jim was close enough that he could follow the reaction with his hands, if he chose.

“Yes, Jim.”

“This okay?” Jim asked, raising his hand to touch Spock’s ear, to trail those same fingers down his cheek. There was familiarity in the action, but they both knew this was not the same as those innocent touches of childhood.

Spock didn’t answer, and Jim didn’t wait. He leaned forward, slow as he dared, and every motion was as if from a picture show—exaggerated. Jim pulled Spock’s head down and met no resistance, and when Jim’s lips met Spock’s, he yielded immediately.

The first taste was indescribable, as if from a tender dream. Spock tasted faintly metallic, overlaid with the slight tang of whatever he had been drinking before coming in here. They kissed slowly because Spock didn’t seem entirely sure how to react and Jim didn’t want to rush, but the soft strokes of tongue were more arousing than the deepest kisses he had ever shared. Jim pushed forward in reaction, the hard front of his lower body encountering the tilt of Spock’s hips and thighs, and they moved backwards, back until Spock hit the wall and Jim could press his hands to his waist without fearing he would run off.

There was a sound, like a bang, and Spock stiffened, shoving Jim away with hands still damp from the sink. Jim didn’t understand, except then an oblivious admiral—drunk out of his mind, most likely—entered the bathroom.

“Evening,” was all he said before disappearing into one of the stalls, not giving them a chance to answer. It was just as well; Jim wasn’t entirely sure he wouldn’t sound breathless and desperate.

Jim and Spock stood, not moving, until the admiral left again. It was a sign of their relationship, whatever it had been, that Spock didn’t even move, seemingly just waiting.

“Spock…” Jim began, not certain how to explain, or how to ask. “Do you…wanna get out of here?” It seemed wrong, somehow, to ask a question that Jim had asked dozens of people dozens of times, but he wasn’t sure what else to say. _Let’s fuck_  was wrong, because Jim didn’t want just sex with Spock.  _Take me home_  wasn’t right—Spock had always been his home, no matter where he was.

Spock didn’t answer immediately, and when he did, it wasn’t what Jim wanted or expected.

“I have to go, Jim.”

Jim blinked rapidly, and dashed in front of Spock as he moved towards the door.

“What? Spock, we—we need to talk about this!”

“No, we do not, Jim. We do not.” Spock sounded as unconvinced as Jim was, but he stood firm. “I must continue to escort Pentenda.”

Jim stiffened like he was a body left in the cold, and his eyes flickered to a Spock that looked uncomfortable, but unrepentant.

“Oh.” It wasn’t eloquent—it wasn’t even goodbye, but Spock took it as such, quietly moving out of the bathroom, the door swinging behind him as Jim stared. Eventually he left too, but it was slowly—everything was so slowly, as if somehow the heaviness Jim felt in his heart weighed him down.

 _What did you expect_? It was a question that Jim didn’t know the answer to, and he was halfway back to the crowd when it became infinitely worse.

“Jim?”

It was Gary, dressed neatly and formally and obviously intending to surprise him. But Gary knew him, took one look at his slightly unaligned clothes and wet lips, and knew. It was what Jim had been hoping to avoid all along, Gary’s face crumbling in anger and sorrow.

“You…” He didn’t say anything else, and didn’t need to.  _This_  was what happened when Jim thought sex with friends was a good idea, but even as he made the parallel, he knew this wasn’t what would have happened with Spock, that Spock was different.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

Gary turned and left without a word, and Jim mutely followed. His gaze sought Spock as he reached the exit hangar for the shuttles, and his eyes—well trained for the sight of his Vulcan friend—found him immediately. Talking to Salura. Looking content, and not like he had been looking for Jim.

Jim quietly left.


	18. 2.8

Spock was uncertain what words came out of his mouth when he returned to Pentenda’s side, but they must have been adequate, for she commented on neither his flushed skin nor his less-than-perfectly draped clothing. This was fortunate, as he was not entirely certain how he could have responded with a modicum of his normal professionalism, and that would have been a very dire set of circumstances indeed. As it was, Spock still found himself feeling slightly at odds with reality, and alarmed with the most recent turn of events.

Jim had kissed him.  _His_  Jim had kissed him. Spock knew enough to understand that the gesture had some significance to humans, and even if he had not realized its relevance, the thick heady feeling that curled through Jim’s touch would have been sign enough. Jim had touched him, just lightly on his waist and lightly on his mouth and lightly across his face, but to Spock, he had felt the touch as though it were through him, inside him, against bare, untouched flesh. The intensity of such a feeling was disturbing, and this was not including the way Spock’s pulse pounded hard in his ears, beyond his control even now, nor did it include the way his body felt heavy, pleasantly so. Had he known that something so simple as a touch could have made him feel so, he would have sought it out long ago.

However, there was another part of him that suspected these feelings were associated only with Jim and his touch, and that was a troubling notion. Had Spock been secluded safely in his apartment, he would have meditated on the matter. Had he been in a clearer state of mind, he would have excused himself, citing the need to meditate; it would have been suspicious, but then, Spock was certain he would have recovered enough to wipe the condemning expression from his face. Had Spock not looked up and to the side, perhaps he would have been able to manage both of these.

But he did look up, for some unknown reason. He looked up and spotted Jim as easily as if they had been right next to one another rather than twenty yards away, and Spock saw him looking distressed, unhappy, conflicted. He watched Jim long enough that he saw him encounter Cadet Mitchell, and he felt hot anger. He watched him even longer, and saw them depart in different directions, clearly at odds, and Spock felt sympathy and guilt. The concept of monogamy was a long-held belief in both Vulcan and human culture, and somehow, Jim had broken that relationship tonight, with Spock’s help. Spock should have felt more guilt at the later realization, but curiously, he did not.

Perhaps, a possibility whispered in Spock’s mind, Jim had disobeyed that cultural more as soon as he had found Cadet Mitchell. Perhaps Jim had been in a relationship far before either of them had been aware, a relationship as strong as any. Perhaps Jim had been operating on his own cultural background tonight, one that told him that no two beings as close as Jim and Spock could share an unconsummated relationship. It was certainly possible, as odd as the thought was, in which case surely Jim would realize as Spock had that it was an artificial urge? They had never needed to show affection in such a manner, and had Jim remained, Spock would have informed him of the fact.

But Jim had not remained although the feeling in Spock’s gut did. Jim had left, no doubt to think on the matter himself. Spock found that the idea was comforting, and although he was still unable to place the exact nature of the emotion he felt, he believed he could…ignore it, as the cause was sufficient.

“Spock?”

Spock looked up at the soft voice, expecting the person who remained in his thoughts. He was surprised to see a cheerful Pentenda, perhaps because he had never seen her quite so lovely, or heard her voice quite so soft.

“Yes, Pentenda?”

“Spock, this is Minerva. Minerva Maine?”

Spock glanced to the young woman standing shyly off to one side. He acknowledged that she was attractive in a slight way, petite compared to Pentenda’s height, but other than that, he found little significant about her. Her hair was brown, as were her eyes. She wore blue makeup, and she had dark skin. It was a list of details as comprehensive as they were meaningless, and Spock would have dismissed the matter entirely with a customary “greetings” had he not seen the single look Pentenda and Minerva shared in his silence. Just one look.

Spock felt his mouth go dry, a curious feeling for one who had come from a desert and had never had these problems.

“I…see. It is a pleasure to meet you, madam, and congratulations.” At their startled looks, Spock worried that his well wishes had come prematurely, but they recovered quickly enough, Pentenda grinning widely and Minerva looking pleased in a quiet way.

They shared another look, as unmistakable as the first.

“Thanks, Spock,” Pentenda said, and Minerva seemed to take that as her cue to depart, lingering just off to the side and near the buffet table. “She decided that she didn’t want to go back to Richard after all. Lucky, huh?” Spock nodded solemnly, and she patted him on the shoulder. Her emotions were murky as those of her species always were, but Spock suspected ‘joy’ was among them. “I think I’m going to duck out early, if that’s alright? You having a good time?”

“I suppose, Pentenda.”

“Then, you and I will have to do it again some time.”

Spock nodded, but he barely heard the words; Pentenda had already turned to leave, with her Minerva at her side. They shared a look, full of love and secrets and joy at finding their other half, and Spock recognized it.

It was one he had shared with Jim many times.

********

Spock did not leave immediately after Pentenda; to do so would have started rumors, he was certain, and Spock did not wish for gossip, not at this point in time. Instead, he lingered as a professional was supposed to, speaking with officers he was familiar with and scientists he had worked with and students he had supervised as they became professionals of their own. It was mingling in an awkward fashion, and such interactions were normally why he avoided parties beyond simple distaste, and by the end of the evening, he was exhausted for reasons he did not analyze.

He had far too much to analyze that night as it was, far too many wonders to embrace:  _t’hy’la_. It was a word Spock had never considered for himself, and one he hesitated to use now. To use such a word was meaningful, enough so that it was never written down, that it was never taught in any class, that it was never spoken except once, and then only to the one it belonged to. It was a sacred word, a Vulcan word, and one that meant many things. The idea that it might apply to Jim was unexpected, impossible…and perfect. Jim was his friend, his oldest and dearest. Jim was his brother, his guide and comfort and family. And to say that Jim was his lover…this was not an unwelcome thought. After the failed attempt of a bond to T’Pring and others, the idea that Jim might have been intended for Spock was more than welcome—in fact, it was longed for.

The sensation that had lingered in Spock’s body was familiar now, as was the truth of their interactions. Jim had not been propelled to Spock by obligation and misunderstanding, but by love and lust. Spock had pushed Jim away to disguise their actions, yes, but he recognized that he would not have done so had they been truly alone. It was not the emotion Spock had expected—not lust—but now that his mind recognized it instinctively, he found it was welcome…and the memory was infectious.

For the first time Spock could recall, he was unable to meditate, and for the first time he had ever heard of, he did not believe this was a failing. While it was possible that he could have gained mental balance and willed the newly discovered sensations away, he did not wish to, and it was that choice that both amazed and excited him.

However, he knew there was something that adult males did in situations such as these, and Spock was not opposed to it. He had no experience himself and he believed this would be obvious to anyone who would observe such actions, but he had been familiar with his body since he was a teenager, if not in such an intimate way.

He began slowly, by removing his formal attire and laying on his bed. It was a decadent feeling, cool blankets against bare skin, and Spock savored it as he closed his eyes, imagining the feeling he had experienced just minutes ago, dimmed by anticipation. It was quick to return in full force, and with it, he felt his flesh pulse in arousal, and he opened his eyes in curiosity.

He had never seen himself fully erect—the sight was surprising. Although he had been aware of the mechanics of it, the idea that he would swell and rise from the black curls of his pubic hair seemed ludicrous, no doubt because he had never experienced the sensation long enough to examine himself as he did now. Once he became accustomed, however, he could see that there was some advantage to this organ, and he touched his fingers to it lightly. He shivered, and pulled back his touch—perhaps not.

Instead, Spock closed his eyes again and imagined that evening as it would have been had they not been interrupted. He imagined the sensation of Jim’s lips, their pressure firm but their texture soft, and he imagined wide hands, scarred lightly from years of scrapes and scuffles. He imagined that Jim would touch his hands, and he imagined that he would like it, a sensation he simulated by rubbing his own fingers together. He imagined Jim pressed against him, hard and aroused, and he imagined warm skin that slid under his clothing to smooth his hairy chest, to brush his ticklish ribs.

Spock shivered, and then he jerked with a more surprising sensation, a wetness that he had not expected. He felt his body go limp and he opened his eyes, surprised to find that his hand had been rubbing his erect organ without his direct command and that his fingers now glistened wetly. The smell of salt filled the air, and with it, something that Spock recognized as ‘sex.’

_Interesting._

More interesting, however, was the fact that after Spock cleaned himself up and soothed the soft raw skin that resulted from his unlubricated activities, he closed his eyes once more, and imagined.

He imagined Jim sleeping next to him.


	19. 2.9

Jim considered it a wise decision not to attend Spock’s classes after that, and unlike before, Spock seemed to agree. Apparently, they had reached a point in their lives where they couldn’t have just friendship, and they both knew it. All of it, from something as simple as a conversation to something as serious as their first dinner, seemed to combine into a big sign for Jim, one that read “this here is a man in love, has been for years, and who can never have it.” Spock was Jim’s best friend and vice versa; it was a pair of roles that had fit them their entire lives, but the one Jim tried to fill had begun to chafe while Spock seemed mostly content with his own. It was Jim who was trying to change things, and Spock followed him, as he always had. Maybe not wisely or happily, but Jim had made the first move…except he didn’t want Spock to follow him.

He wanted Spock to be running towards the same thing he was, at the same speed, by his side. He wanted Spock…but Spock wanted something else.

Jim let him have it. He was a reasonable man, after all, and not some beast ruled by jealousy, so for the next month, Jim left him be. Whatever Spock was doing, Jim was happy for him. Whoever Spock filled his time with these days, Jim was happy for them too. His grades began to peak again, but only through sheer force of will and effort and spending so much time studying to avoid pining that he had all but memorized the text. The accomplishment of the knowledge that he was going to end his first year at the top of the second year class didn’t help much with the feelings he kept bottled, however, and so by the time Thanksgiving rolled around—a blessed week, courtesy of some higher up who felt people should actually be able to travel and see their families—Jim was a little bit of a mess.

Bones drank with him heartily, and they occupied the nearly empty bar like a force all their own: these two men, both with no homes worth going to.

“Yussee Jim…” Bones began, and then he corrected himself with a quick smacking of his lips. “ _You see_ , Jim…holidays are for people with places to go.”

Jim nodded sagely along the comment, the conclusion one they had reached prior to imbibing alcohol, but one they needed to reiterate regardless.

“People with families.”

Bones immediately threw an arm across his shoulders.

“Oh, Jim, don’t be like that. I’ll be your family, you know,” he promised, voice deep and not threatening. Jim stiffened anyway.

“Yeah, okay.” The thoughts he had been trying to avoid for weeks floated to the surface of his mind, made buoyant by alcohol. “Hey, Bones…do you think Spock’s okay?”

Bones shrugged.

“Professor Spock? Last I heard, he was dating that lady. Apparently got a promotion, too.”

“He did?” Jim hadn’t heard; he guessed he was truly moving on.

He ignored the fact that he was doing anything but being happy about it though.

“Yeah.”

Jim sighed into his drink, and sipped the bitter liquid, feeling it burn down to his legs. He stood on shaky limbs, and Bones looked at him curiously. Jim explained.

“I just need some air. Need to walk it off.”

Bones smiled and waved, like the friend he was.

“Sure, Jim. Don’t worry about me—I’ll make it back in a few.”

Jim nodded with eyes closed to avoid the dizziness, and pushed out of the bar easily. The sidewalk looked close as the air in front of him, and he swayed, not sure where to go…except he knew where he was going. He found himself outside of Spock’s apartment before he knew it, staring forlornly at the closed windows and dark interior. Spock was probably out on a date…Spock was probably doing research…Spock was probably enjoying the holidays…Spock was probably meeting new people, and celebrating his promotion. Spock was probably fine without Jim in his life.

But Jim didn’t think he was fine without  _Spock_ —it was unhealthy, and Jim was sober enough that he realized he should go back to his own room and sleep it all off.

Instead, he took the panel off the door, broke into the residence of Commander Spock, and fell asleep on the first bed he found.

********

Jim was awoken by the feel of sunlight on his face and a headache that just wouldn’t quit, and the realization that he was in an unfamiliar bed that smelled of Spock. He panicked for one instant, unable to remember what had happened the night before and worried he might have messed it up…but then he realized his clothes were still on even though he was under the covers and his mouth tasted foul, and Spock would never have kissed him when he tasted like a drunk.

“Good morning, Jim.”

Spock’s voice surprised him, and Jim jerked, hard enough that he felt dizzy and nauseous. Spock responded by pressing a hypo into his neck—not a hangover remedy, but something close, as his headache abated to something very small. Almost unnoticeable.

“You keep hangover cures in your house?” It was not the way Jim should have responded— _he’d broken into Spock’s house while drunk, for Christ’s sake_ —but he didn’t know what else to say just then.

“Not generally. However, when I returned last night and found you here, I acquired them, as they appeared necessary.”

Jim winced, feeling a pain entirely different than what he expected from a hangover.

“Sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking—I’ll leave now.”

Jim made to stand, and Spock pushed him down with one hand on his shoulder. Jim tried to focus on that, but couldn’t—Spock was wearing white, and that was far more interesting.

“Calm yourself, Jim.” Jim relaxed, but hesitantly. “Would you like breakfast?”

Jim was confused.

“Spock. I broke into your house and fell asleep on your bed. Why aren’t you bothered by this? Last time I saw you, you were…” Jim trailed off, because he didn’t think “confused and delicious” was the word combination he was looking for, but he wasn’t thinking clearly just then.

“Yes, I was,” Spock answered simply, “but you appear to have something you wish to discuss.”

Jim nodded absently, and sadly.

“Alright. I’d love breakfast.” He planned to slip out the door as soon as Spock turned his back, but despite the determined thought, when Spock left his bedroom, Jim was unable to move. Perhaps he was selfish, and foolish…but Jim didn’t want to move from the rumpled sheets, didn’t want to stop imagining that they were disordered because Spock had slept there too, beside him. Didn’t want to stop imagining tumbling Spock back down into them.

Eventually, Jim did force himself to stand, but it was slow going, his body lazy as if it too understood that Jim didn’t really want to leave. In an attempt to loosen his muscles, Jim walked around the perimeter of the bed, not quite willing to go out and face Spock in his pacing.

It was fortunate that he did so, because he would have otherwise missed the small device sitting on Spock’s dresser. It was familiar, impossibly so, and outdated…but a quick touch of his fingers to the keypad showed that the tricorder was still in working order, well-maintained and polished almost impossibly.

It was far nicer than Jim remembered that cheap thing ever being when he gave it to Spock.

“You kept it? After all this time?” The words were spoken into the quiet around him.

“Of course.” Jim jumped, and turned to see Spock standing in the doorway, holding a bowl of grapefruit and something that looked suspiciously like eggs for Jim. Apparently, he had also bought food last night; Jim was flattered, or he was until Spock set both items down and continued speaking.

“I did not tell you about my wife.”

 _Spock is married?_  Jim felt the bottom drop out of his stomach, and he shook his head mutely, feeling a thousand times guiltier than he could ever remember being. Spock continued.

“When I reached Vulcan, I was nearly eighteen. It was unheard of for a male Vulcan at such an advanced age to be unbetrothed, and so my grandmother made certain to find a wife for me. T’Pring was perfectly connected, perfectly rational, perfectly suited in every way. My stepfather approved of her, and Mother liked her…but even though we attempted to proceed with the betrothal ceremony, it was impossible. My mind would not link to hers.” Spock looked at Jim for a reaction, but Jim simply stared as Spock continued. “For two years, she was my wife in name only, and before I applied for the Vulcan Science Academy, we were divorced.” The note of finality to it made Jim swallow, both in relief and emotion. Spock was looking at him, and his voice was tender. “I missed you so very much, Jim…and I realized that certain things were not as they’d always been.”

“Things?” Jim prompted, and Spock looked at him with fondness.

“Jim, you were my first love.”

Jim’s heart began to thump erratically.

“I…was?”

Spock nodded seriously.

“Yes, with all the innocence of childhood, and we  _were_  children, Jim. I had convinced myself that this was all, until I met you again…as a professor to a new cadet.”

Suddenly, many things made sense.

“You knew, didn’t you? About what Pike said?” Of course, there must have been official rules somewhere…but Spock would have considered that before. And yet, Spock still wanted his company.

“No Jim, I did not know, but I suspect that you discussed with him, as I did, our first dinner together. I also suspect that it was friendship you claimed.”

Jim swallowed again.

“Sorry, Spock. Sorry.”

Spock looked at him like he was being deliberately obtuse.

“Jim, I said you were my first love. I would be dishonest if I did not inform you that you are also my only.”

That didn’t seem possible. Spock, who was so brilliant and beautiful, and Jim, who—while brilliant, certainly—was anything but worthy?

“What about Professor Salura?”

“She is a dear friend of mine who prefers women.”

“What about…your wife? In the future?”

Spock shifted, uncomfortable, and Jim was prepared for anything from “what we have is only temporary” to “fuck it” when Spock answered.

“Jim, when it became apparent that I would not form a bond with T’Pring, they tried many others. It was ineffective, and I believe it always will be.”

There was shame in his voice, the result of not being a perfect Vulcan, but Jim heard more than that.

“You didn’t want to push me away.”

Spock shook his head.

“Even as inexperienced as I am, I could see that it was not the time, nor the place, nor the emotion I wanted at the time,” he said quietly, and Jim was a little floored.

“And…how do you feel about now? Here?” Jim felt impossibly eager, impossibly excited, and Spock raised an eyebrow. The expression was so familiar that Jim wanted to kiss him, and he moved forward to do just that.

“I thought you wanted breakfast.” The question was spoken into the barest inches of air between them, and Jim shook his head, grinning.

“No, Spock—I want  _you_.”

This time it was Spock who moved forward, who initiated the kiss, as soft and sweet as the one they had shared before—Jim could remember it perfectly. However, this time when Jim attempted to push him against the wall, Spock let him without resistance, without hesitation. In Jim’s experience, those with little sexual experience were never so willing, so trusting.

“So,” Jim asked, nibbling on Spock’s bottom lip until Spock opened his mouth on a gasp, “how much experience is ‘inexperienced?’”

“Irrelevant, Jim. I trust you.” It was the hottest, most beautiful thing he could have said, and Jim laughed, feeling light.

“So no pressure, right?”

Spock pressed the lightest of kisses to his nose.

“I would never pressure you, Jim.”

Jim took that as the declaration of love it was, and he compromised. Jim wanted everything with Spock, everything two people could do to one another and with one another…but he didn’t want a flashing sexual relationship, something that would fizzle and die quickly. He wanted the love, and the caring, and the gentleness, and he wanted it more than the quick thrust and orgasm his body seemed to demand. He wanted slow.

They removed their clothes unhurriedly, both because they wished to see each other and because there was something meaningful about each article of clothing that fell to the floor. I want you, said Spock’s shirt. Please be mine, said Jim’s belt. Nakedness was not the goal but the result of having nothing more to say, and when there was only skin exposed, they found each other on Spock’s bed.

Jim had never seen a naked Vulcan, but this was not the reason he stared; he had been through more than enough one night stands by this point that even curiosity wasn’t enough to stall his moves. Under normal circumstances, Jim would have been all over the naked flesh before him, but these weren’t normal circumstances, not for him.

Spock was thin, muscled and lean with skinny hips and nothing except long pale skin and dark hair. Any unsightly flaws that might have existed when they were younger were certainly no more, and although Jim could admit that Spock was not perfection as he had his own scars, he was beautiful to Jim. Every callus. Every wrinkle. There was even something special about Spock’s  _bellybutton_ , and Jim leaned down to kiss it without thinking, an action that made the muscles over Spock’s stomach twitch. Of course, this was only half the goal.

“Jim, what are you doing?” Spock asked around the time Jim had begun to inch down even farther, running his hands over muscled, hairy thighs. Who would have thought Spock would grow up to have so much hair? Not Jim, certainly, but he had to admit that he liked the texture, and they way it grew in untamed whorls so contrary to Spock’s controlled nature.

“Why are you smiling?”

“Me? I’m not smiling,” Jim said through his grin, and Spock made a huffing, disbelieving noise that Jim thought he should have heard before then.

“I believe the phrase is ‘you could have deceived me.’”

“Fooled me. You could have fooled me.”

“Perhaps in your language.”

Jim chuckled and he leaned forward to kiss a scar on Spock’s thigh. He remembered that one—dirt biking, and a crash into barbed wire. There was no reason it should have been erotic now…but that didn’t seem to matter.

“You know, it’s amazing,” Jim said, still smiling while he reached out a hand to tangle in Spock’s chest hair, flicking in the line between his pectorals and the smooth bumps of green nipples. Spock caught his breath.

“Amazing?”

“That I could look at you all day. And although I want to do so many things— _God, Spock, you have no idea_ —I can’t seem to decide on any one.”

Spock looked entirely too amused to be the one splayed out on his back like some sort of feast.

“Perhaps a suggestion?”

Jim brightened immediately.

“Yes, sure.”

Spock hesitated.

“I would like…your hands.”

“My hands?” Jim was confused for a moment, and then he remembered a certain conversation in a certain restaurant. “ _Oh_ , my hands!”

He extended them, and Spock accepted them, looking even more amused than before.

“No, Jim. Your hands.”

And so saying, he placed Jim’s palms over the bones of his hips, thumbs tucked into the crook of his inner thigh. The heat was incredible, and Jim swallowed, slowly moving his fingers inward to touch the twitching column between them. Spock breathed deeply, but there was an artificial sound to it, as if he was forcing himself to stay calm. Jim, curious, squeezed the hot flesh tightly, and was rewarded with a gasp.

It was so simple, and yet Jim had never been more turned on in his life.

“Do you have any lube?” Jim received no answer, and he tried again. “Spock?”

Spock shook his head, and Jim was surprised.

“Don’t you masturbate?” Jim couldn’t imagine such a simple, near-daily task without that additional glide, and judging by the dry skin he now held, it wasn’t an option for Spock either.

“Yes, once. My supplies were lacking at the time.”

“Once?”

“Yes. Twenty-eight days ago.”

The time measurement rang a familiar bell, and Jim smirked.

“ _That_  night, huh? Well, I think we can do better than hands, then.”

Spock didn’t have a chance to respond before Jim leaned forward to lap at the head of his dark green penis, his tongue curling around the tip, and Spock bucked his hips almost immediately. Jim pulled back just slightly and Spock froze, clearly understanding that Jim wanted more than a few quick thrusts for their night together.

 _Telepaths_ …it was a fun thought, and one that Jim held firmly in his mind when he leaned down again to suck deeply, mouth wet as he could make it. Spock held perfectly still while Jim bobbed, leaving him sloppy and slick. When Jim pulled back, more than happy to replace his mouth with his hands while he absorbed that same metallic taste from before, the rigid flesh was now perfectly slick, at least for a hand job.

“Spock? You alive up there?” Jim asked, pumping slowly. Spock’s legs twitched, and then he propped himself on his elbows.

“Yes. Jim, come to me.” Spock held out his arms, and Jim didn’t know what he wanted but he was perfectly willing to align his body with Spock’s, no matter the reason. When he did so, he found himself sliding too much against him, the friction just barely there…until Spock’s hand came to wrap around them both.

“Better, Jim?” Spock asked, his hand twisting, and Jim felt his eyes roll back into his head.

“Yes, Spock. Yes,  _yes_.”

His hips took on a life of his own after that, and Jim would be the first to admit that he didn’t last nearly as long as he would have liked, and not just because his damn telepath had the perfect grip; Spock also murmured sweet sounds in his ear and kissed his cheek, and the love was apparent, welcome, and returned.

It was probably the best sex of Jim’s life, but since there was a rule about these things, it was inevitably followed by awkward domestic bliss…which was to say that they ate grapefruit and eggs, and Spock worried.

 “Jim, there are things we must consider. This is a relationship that is highly frowned upon, even though I am not your official professor.”

Jim shrugged. It was difficult to take the whole thing seriously when the two of them were sitting on the bed, still naked and sticky, eating breakfast.

“We’ll keep it a secret.”

Spock raised his eyebrow, looking doubtful. Jim wondered if it was a slight at his skills at hiding things, but then decided it didn’t matter.

“Indefinitely, Jim?”

Jim shook his head and grinned from ear to ear. Sunlight filtered into the room, touching on everything and lingering on Spock, with his bedhead and his neat little bites. Some things were worth fighting for.

“No. One day, I’ll have a ship…and then we can make our own rules.”

It was a promise and an oath, and they sealed it with a kiss both human and Vulcan.

********

End


End file.
